


Dionysus

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: D/s, F/M, Inception Reverse Bang round 6, Light Bondage, Lingerie, Shower Sex, talking dirty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8490379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: Arthur is a man used to taking whatever he wants, and that includes Ariadne. It maybe that that's just what Ariadne's looking for.(Warnings: physical violence and torture (stated and implied), non consensual drug use, kidnap/abduction, language, descriptions of physical injury)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for i_reversebang round 6. The gorgeous art work by ameluz71 that this fic was inspired by can be seen below. I am ridiculously grateful to eustacia_vye28 for being my beta, cheerleader, general handholder and all round superstar.
> 
> The characters, setting and story of Inception are the property of Christopher Nolan and no cash is being made from this story.

 

 

~*~  
  
_Where did it begin?_ Ariadne asked herself as she sat watching Arthur, his hands flying over his keyboard, his face set down in the hard lines of concentration. The moments when he would stop, handwrite a note or take a sip of coffee, or glance over at her, and the darkness in his eyes would make a frisson run down her spine, the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, something knowing and possessive in his look as she lifted her chin and smiled back, daring him. _Figure me out if you can,_ she would think as she raised her eyebrows, watching his smile deepen until creases appeared around his eyes: Knowing, watchful, brilliant, examining, decoding. Did he know even then? She would wonder later, running time back in her mind to Paris, their meeting and what came after.  
  
~*~  
  
It would be a lie on her part to say that when she met Arthur she wasn’t interested and madly curious about him. Cobb was a puzzle, but he wasn’t opaque in the way Arthur was in the beginning. Cobb had infuriated her, tempted her into an amazing world, watched her unleash herself with barely a word of warning about the consequences and behaved as if his pain, his love, loss and grief justified every move he made, no matter how selfish. But Arthur, cool, calm, wry and dark, standing by Cobb no matter what the circumstances or the danger, he was the true mystery to her, and there was nothing she wanted more than to figure him out. Perhaps it helped that there was a spark of attraction right from the start, when he’d first shaken her hand and she’d felt his gaze running over her even as she took him in. That married together in a mixture more potent than wine, more delicious than the warm surge of somnacin in her blood, almost as thrilling as pure creation, everything drawing her into a world where she was a goddess in more than name.  
  
  
But that didn’t mean she had any intention of swooning at his feet right away, she had smiled to herself. She had no interest in being his latest conquest, and the look in his eyes when he smiled at her told her that he was more a man to relish a challenge than an easy victory.  
  
  
“You did well.” Arthur removed the lead from her arm as they woke from his paradoxical architecture training dream. “Sit up slowly.” He ordered when she made to move. Her head was ringing with questions, all the things he’d mentioned about Cobb and Mal, all the ideas she’d seen playing out in his head whirling in a blizzard of half formed designs.  
  
  
He was coiling the leads up, watching her with a dry little smile in his face as if he knew she was on a high. Maybe he’d been showing off, trying to impress her as well as teach her the game, she thought. If so that was rather flattering. He’d wanted her to be awestruck, not in the way Cobb had by throwing her into a city should could shape at will, but rather by making subtle tricks and sleights of mind, letting her projections walk through his dream and discover them. He’d not allowed her to be hurt, nor had he shied away from her physical presence. There had been that ineffable thrill of being around someone she was attracted to and feeling their interest in return, and it made her shiver in the most pleasant way.  
  
  
“You enjoyed that.” Arthur stated rather than asked, carefully stepping over the subject of Cobb and Mal. She noticed, and filed away her questions for later.  
  
  
“It was,” she bunched her hair back with one hand and chuckled. “Wow, I mean, that was incredible. I like your aesthetic too.” She added. “Clean lines. Lots of light. It was interesting.”  
  
  
“I’m not an architect but I’ve picked up things here and there. I’m looking forward to what you’re going to teach me.” He tucked the leads away and turned back to her, hands in his pockets, relaxed and perfectly confident. “Have lunch with me.”  
  
  
Another statement instead of a question, the little shit. She raised her eyebrows, and felt a grin split her face. “You’re pretty sure of yourself,” she replied lightly. “What if I’m not hungry? Or I brought some sandwiches? What if I just plain out say no?”  
  
  
Arthur’s smile deepened, and she saw a flash of dimples in his cheeks. “Are you going to?”  
  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe you should try asking, not assuming.” She tilted her chin up, letting him watch her. The current between them was making her feel flirtatious in a way she hadn’t for so long. The guys on her course and at the university rarely held her attention like this, nor did they offer that thrill of being so confident and sure in every inch of themselves. Not even her past partners had been so self assured. His attention was almost a tangible thing, strong and definite and just her idea of attractive.  
  
  
“Maybe I should. But you know, I’m pretty good at getting what I want. I very rarely have to ask any more.” His eyebrows quirked, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “And just so you know, I’ll pay.”  
  
  
Ariadne wanted to laugh. “I see. Well, I’m going to insist that I at least pay for some of my meal. I don’t want you to think I’m a pushover, after all.”  
  
  
“Believe me,” Arthur swept her jacket up and held it open for her, “I don’t think that at all. I’m just eager to find out more about you, and what better way than over a good meal? I’m sure you have questions for me too.” He added, leaning closer as she slid her arms into her jacket, his breath tickling her neck delightfully. Oh, this was good.  
  
  
“Alright then,” she turned around, and the space between their bodies was so small she could practically feel the heat from his skin. “Take me to lunch.” She grinned, laying one hand lightly on his forearm, a touch he could have shaken off if he’d wanted. But he didn’t.  
  
  
“With pleasure.” He replied in a voice that made her stomach go to butterflies and a frisson run down to her core. Yes, definitely her kind of mystery, she decided.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
Their first lunch had been at a small cafe, at a discreet table for two. Arthur had ordered wine after examining the list, and the red he picked had been rich and mouth filling with her steak and frites. He’d watched her pleasure with quiet satisfaction, eating his meal with neat relish as she talked, questioned him and he answered with plain, straightforward replies, and questions of his own. It felt as if they were inside their own compartment of time, a bubble where she felt her own need to appear always strong and brilliant lest she find herself being ignored or patronised dissolving. Alright, he was still a trifle too sure of himself, she decided. But he wasn’t behaving as if she was somehow too young or foolish to understand or cope with what they were setting out to do. It was a respect she’d found lacking as a young female architect, and somehow it made her feel safer, more trusting of him than perhaps she otherwise might.  
  
  
As they walked back to the warehouse, Arthur had very casually asked: “May I take your hand?”  
  
  
“Why?” She’d asked lightly, trying not to betray the small thrill the thought of him touching her sent through her.  
  
  
“I’d like to. If I may.” He held out his hand, and she held off for a second. It wouldn’t do to let him think he could win so easily all the time. With a lift of her eyebrows she’d slipped her hand into his slowly, letting him take hold. He had a firm grip, his larger palm and longer fingers engulfing her smaller ones. He’d smiled when she let her thumb rest under his, and rubbed the joint gently. Her breath caught for a second, but she’d simply smiled back. They held hands all the way back, Ariadne memorising the feel of his skin on hers.  
  
  
They had two or three more lunches together, and Ariadne came to relish the breaks they took from the hard graft of dream design. Arthur pushed her forwards, feeling her boundaries and making her push them, letting her aim towards the perfection she could see on the horizon but never allowing her to burn herself out. He wasn’t overt, nor brutal like her tutors nor vicious like Cobb, instead he watched her, steered her, listened when she spoke and let her mind fly off at tangents when she felt herself fumbling stupidly towards the ideas she could see so clearly but that refused to coalesce in the dream. He was a boundary, a strong wall that held her together and let her range free inside. It made her drive herself harder, as if his faith in her abilities was fuel for the pure creative fire inside. He never wavered, always teaching her, never dictating or trying to take credit for himself.  
  
  
Cobb, Eames and Yusuf had arrived from Mombasa a week and a half later, and Ariadne knew by some tacit understanding that they were going to have to stop having their lunches, their slow walks back with their hands joined, and that they were going to have to reel in the flirting they’d been enjoying while they were alone. She’d been privately hoping that Arthur might be working up to kissing her, but she was enjoying the anticipation too much to force the matter. Just having him close to her was fuelling plenty of nighttime fantasies and solo orgasms, and the electric feeling when he touched her was sharpening her attraction to him. But it was clear, they had work to do and that took priority for all of them. So she was surprised when Arthur had stopped at her drafting table early on their first evening all together  
  
  
“Ariadne,” he asked in a low voice, “would you like to get some dinner and discuss how your work is progressing?” His lips were quirked in a shadow of a smile, as if he was recalling the first time he’d asked her to eat with him,  
  
  
She glanced around the room warily. Yusuf was hunched over his microscope, fiddling with the focus and scribbling notes with his other hand. Cobb had vanished into one of the smaller rooms off to the side of the main space, only the light burning behind the closed door giving away his presence. Eames had his back to them, his head resting on hand as he read a pile of files at one of the battered old desks. He sighed to himself, turning a page and idly tapping his pen on the tabletop. They were all absorbed, hardly giving them any attention as they worked. Besides, she added defiantly to herself, it was no business of theirs who she ate her meals with. It wasn’t as if Arthur was proposing to fuck her stupid across her desk. _Oh, that image was definitely one to keep for later._  
  
  
“I’d like that, thank you. Let me get my things.” She replied softly, letting a smile grace her lips.  
  
  
Eames had glanced up when she walked past him, his eyes going from her to Arthur, who was at his desk donning his coat and packing his bag, then back.  
  
  
“Off early?” He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes.  
  
  
“I’m done for the day. I got a head start on you, remember?” She kept her tone businesslike, but Eames simply grinned.  
  
  
“Yes, you and Arthur did quite a lot before we got here, didn’t you?” Her spine stiffened, and the sharp retort came before she could think.  
  
  
“We had training to complete, and designs to begin based on the research you’re currently catching up on.”  
  
  
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Eames knowing look made her jaw tighten. “But don’t forget, we’re not out of the woods yet. I’d hate for you to lose focus right when we need your skills most. Right, Arthur?” He beamed at him across the room, and Ariadne took a sharp breath in.  
  
  
“No one’s going to do that, Eames.” Arthur’s voice was cool and level. “We all know what’s at stake here. I have faith in all of us to get there.” He shouldered his messenger bag and came to stand next to her, every inch the coworker and point man.  
  
  
“Well, I’m glad we all understand each other.” Eames picked up another file, pausing before he opened it. “Enjoy your evening, Ariadne.” He said pointedly. She nodded back, not trusting herself to answer, and followed Arthur to the door.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
The restaurant he picked was quiet, lit with yellow lamps and filled with the sounds of soft conversation and the occasional chink of silverware. The linen cloths on the tables were snowy white and smooth as water, the crystal glittering and the cutlery polished to a high sheen. It oozed an aura of subtle luxury, and for the first time since they’d met Ariadne felt awkward and impossibly young in his presence.  
  
  
“What did Eames mean?” She asked as soon as the waiter had left them alone. Her clothes felt shabby and out of place against the classic lines of the room, while Arthur looked as if he’d been born there. It was making her uncomfortable, and suddenly the disparity between them opened wide in her mind.  
  
  
Arthur made a face, a twist of his lips and a gathering of his eyebrows. “He thinks he knows something, and he was trying to find out if it was true. Eames is good at things like that. Finding people’s levers is his job.”  
  
  
“But he implied that…,” She broke off, feeling her words tangling up in her outrage. “He implied we weren’t just training or working on the job.” Her face flushed suddenly, because that wasn’t all they’d been doing, and she’d been enjoying that fact as much as the design and dreaming itself.  
  
  
“Listen,” Arthur reached over the table and clasped her wrist. “He was talking to me too. And I think he can think what he wants. I know that you won’t do anything less than your best to make this a success. You’re better than Cobb, even if he never says as much. You’re better than just about every other architect I’ve worked with, and that’s a high bar, Ariadne. Don’t let him get into your head and let you think you can’t pull this off just because you’re young, or inexperienced.”  
  
  
“Why would he say that to you?” Ariadne swallowed her swelling pride at his words.  
  
  
“He can see that I like you. That I’m attracted to you. But I think he thinks it’s just sexual. And on that he is definitely wrong.” Arthur held her gaze across the table, his fingers stroking the inside of her wrist where the skin was tender, gentle over the raised bumps of PASIV needle marks. Ariadne could feel her throat going dry, her heart thumping crazily behind her ribs. She felt dizzy with all the words coming from his lips, and her free hand groped towards her totem in her hip pocket.  
  
  
“He is?” She echoed, trying to sound surprised and to her own ears failing terribly.  
  
  
“Listen to me, Ariadne. I know what I want.” His mouth quirked into his usual dry smile. “And what I want isn’t a fling to make this job a little more pleasant. I can see potential in you, as well as so many other, more aesthetic and personal things. You love this work already, and I can see you being incredible.”  
  
  
“Arthur, I—” She took a long mouthful of water, trying to absorb everything. “You’re right. I do love it. I like working with you.” He positively beamed at her at that. “But I don’t just want a fling either, especially if it leads to more suspicion from the others. This work, it's like nothing I’ve ever done before. Its incredible and complex and exhausting. I have to be flawless, or you’re all at risk as well as my reputation. Cobb isn’t stable, you know that,” she pressed as Arthur winced imperceptibly. “I can’t let him drag you down with him.”  
  
  
“I can protect myself.” Arthur said firmly. “And believe me, I will protect you.” She felt herself shiver, and her fingers curled to touch his wrist. Not a mouthful of wine and she felt the slow bleed of intoxication warming her blood, like it always did when he reminded her of his strength and presence. “And as soon as the opportunity presents itself, I am going to give you all my attention, and take all of yours. I won’t insult you with a half assed affair. I want all of what you have to give, and I will give you everything you want in return. Do you understand?” His eyes were dark and steady on hers, and Ariadne felt her arousal spiking in spite of herself.  
  
  
“Yes,” her tongue felt thick and stupid with desire. “I want that. With you.”  
  
  
“Good,” he murmured. “We can have that as soon as this is over, but not before. Agreed?”  
  
  
“Agreed. You’ll come back to Paris?” The note in her voice was anxious, but he clasped her hand.  
  
  
“Yes, and I will walk through the fires of Hell to get here if I have to.”  
  
  
In spite of herself, Ariadne laughed. “Don’t do that. Just come back, OK?”  
  
  
Arthur managed to look sheepish for the first time since she’d met him, and that almost made her laugh again. “Alright. We need ground rules.” He added. “The job comes first. Nothing we do can be less than unimpeachable.”  
  
  
“I can do an excellent professional face.” She reassured.  
  
  
“I know, and it is lovely.” He smiled at her, his eyes soft again as she coloured. “No physical relationship until after we’re done. No teasing or tempting each other when we’re working. No sneaking off to have some fun when we should be working.”  
  
  
“OK. We can still do this sometimes though?” She traced her fingers over his skin and enjoyed his tiny tremble in response.  
  
  
“We can still eat together. Talk, touch sometimes.” He trailed off, looking at her mouth. “Kiss, maybe.”  
  
  
Ariadne felt her stomach swoop down and up as if she were riding a rollercoaster. “We can. If you like.” Arthur’s smile was darker now, a hint of the feral lurking in his looks.  
  
  
“I would like. But like all pleasures, I think it should be savoured when we do. So perhaps we should. But maybe we should save it.”  
  
  
“I—” Ariadne felt herself shiver again. “I’ll be happy to follow your lead.” She murmured, watching Arthur’s eyebrows rise in faint surprise.  
  
  
“I see,” he said in a low voice. “Well then. Let’s have dinner. Enjoy each other’s company. Then I’ll walk you home. I think that’s a good start, don’t you?” His hand tightened on her wrist briefly, and Ariadne felt her eyelids flutter for a second. Oh god, this was the most exquisite feeling. He was orchestrating her anticipation now, and it was glorious.  
  
  
“Yes, Arthur.” She replied, wetting her lips and catching the lower between her teeth.  
  
  
Across the table from her he merely nodded, gripped her wrist tightly for a moment, and then slowly let her hand go.  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
They’d eaten dinner, purposely avoiding talk of work, and Arthur had walked her home through the dark streets, his hand curling around hers as he’d done so many times before. Ariadne felt his touch, and all his words at the table came back with a delicious frisson. He must of felt her shiver, because he gave her a gentle tug, moving her into his side. His hand left hers, but before she could protest or grab it back his arm wrapped around her shoulders. It was a cool late spring night and there was really no excuse for it, but she leant into him with a warm tingle of pleasure. He felt strong and lean against her, and the feeling of her own small stature against his taller frame delighted her in a deep, primal way. He could pick her up and carry her without breaking a sweat. He could hold her up, cover her body with his and she’d have to surrender, and what a wonderful feeling that would be. He glanced down at her as they walked, smiling faintly as her hand snuck around his waist.  
  
  
“I very much want to kiss you.” He said quietly. “I’ve been telling myself to be patient, but I really don’t think I can wait.”  
  
  
In the half light he looked dangerous, watching her like a cat waiting to pounce. He wet his lips, and her feet stumbled, forcing him catch her. For second time stretched out, the moment teetering on the edge and Ariadne felt the world narrow down to the single point of him, hands on her shoulders, eyes dark and lips parted.  
  
  
“Then kiss me,” she heard herself say. The next moment his mouth covered hers, his body crushed against her as his lips pressed down, his hands tight in her hair. Her mouth was tingling, pushing back hot with want as his tongue licked at the seam of her lips, teasing them open and there was nothing for her but this as he dipped into her mouth, letting her taste him. Her heart raced in her chest, hands grabbing his lapels and hanging on for dear life as she twisted in his current. It was overwhelming to be kissed like this, held tight and submerged in feeling. It went on and on, until she felt a moan rising from her chest even as he growled, desperate and hot into her mouth before he tore himself away.  
  
  
“Let me take you home. We have to wait, and you’re testing my self control.” His voice was rough and it buzzed in her belly. “Another kiss like that and we’ll end up fucking in an alley somewhere.”  
  
  
Ariadne made herself pull back, letting go of his jacket. “You’re right.” She agreed shakily. “Take me home before I ask you just that.”  
  
  
At her door, he kissed her once more, a soft, swift kiss that set a seal on her lips. Once he was gone, she went to bed, and used her fingers to bring herself off, all the time thinking of their first hungry kiss.  
  
~*~


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

 

Ten months after Los Angeles, at the normal start of a normal day. Or as normal as things got for mind crime, since Ariadne’s frame of reference was still small enough to make her wonder if a daily regime beginning with training in self defence and firearms, followed by designing impossible structures and landscapes, then spending evenings with her partner who was also an internationally renowned dream worker, was par for the course. Once she graduated there were trips abroad, first for smaller jobs where they found their feet, meetings with businessmen and women who eyed her warily and she would find herself playing the architect to the hilt, wearing the armour she’d developed in critiques and at work placements as only a small woman in a world full of men could. 

 

She sometimes chafed at the level of simplicity she was required to use, but Arthur always reminded her that Fischer was an exception, not a rule. He would cup her face in one hand, repeating that he’d seen her brilliance, her work ethic and her constant striving towards perfection and that she had nothing to prove. On the days when she would push herself towards exhaustion he would step in, switching off her work lamp, making her get up and walk with him, putting meals in front of her that, after protesting she really wasn’t hungry, one mouthful would awaken a monstrous growling from her belly then she’d be inhaling food as if it was her first meal in a week. 

 

And the sex; she would grin to herself. The sex was great. Arthur was an attentive lover, learning her like he did almost everything, immersing himself in act and watching her responses. He was orally inclined and physically imposing enough to sate almost all of her desires, and somehow bringing up her past relationships and the things she’d done seemed ungrateful in a bizarre way. Or maybe she was just embarrassed, she would confront herself. Admitting to liking and having known she liked certain things for a while still didn’t put the idea of him recoiling in horror or disgust out of her head, as had happened at least once before. She liked Arthur, liked him very, very much and a part of her was terrified he would be repulsed even if she so much as asked for him to maybe slap her ass a little. But sometimes he would knot his hands in her hair, his body completely covering hers as he thrust into her, and sharp tingles would zig zag from her scalp to her toes, making the bursts of pleasure inside burn brighter than ever. The fact she was utterly powerless and could do nothing but feel would set her adrift on a wave of pure sensation, everything falling away until she could see the bright point of her orgasm rushing towards her, the aching moments before it broke over her senses incredible. Those times she would think that he knew, and somehow was giving her her what she needed as best he could. 

 

So, a normal enough for mind crime day. She’d stayed at his apartment on the Champs du Mars, because she claimed that the sheer beauty of the building always gave her an architectural hard on, and that always made him laugh. They’d had breakfast together, then exchanged coffee and toast tinted kisses until Arthur had gone out to Charles De Gaulle to meet Eames, who was flying in work with them on their current job. Deciding not to waste any time, or the beautiful golden fall light, she’d gathered up her sketchbook and drawing case and decided to head to her favourite cafe to work on some ideas that had been floating half formed in her head since they’d been commissioned. It was a two layer dream, a high level corporate employee who held a top security clearance, and to reach the information would be more challenging than anything they’d done since Fischer. Ariadne was delighted by the thought of getting to flex her creative muscle a little more, and perhaps she hadn’t been as attentive as usual to the world around her that morning. Later she would ask herself what if, picking up each fragment of that day, watching possibilities fork off each turn and choice, but the truth was it was all horrifically ordinary, a day that might have been written over in her memory were it not for what happened.

 

The cafe was a small one, frequented by graduate students and the hipster types who were starting to develop pockets of their culture closer to the centre of the city. Drawing at a table there was never frowned on like it might have been at the smarter places near Arthur’s, and no one would raise an eyebrow at anything unusual they might glimpse on the pages. The coffee was excellent, and the staff were friendlier than the usual Parisian hauter allowed, especially to anyone with a hint of a non French accent. Only one thing stood out that day, and that was a new barista working the machine when she reached the counter to order. He was tanned, his light brown hair back in a ponytail, and when he spoke his accent was Australian. They’d chatted a little, him mentioning he’d come to Paris following a Parisian girl who he’d met in New Zealand. Ariadne had wished him luck, but he’d smiled in a way the might have been devastating had she been looking, his teeth white and perfect, and said he didn’t need it. 

 

One of the familiar staff had brought her coffee to her at a pavement table, smiling and nodding to her as a regular. She hadn’t touched her drink right away, that she did know. She’d doodled a few things, then fleshed one out a little, a stone portico guarded by lions and fluid iron railings that rippled like seaweeds on the page. When she’d looked up, blinking at street before her as reality came back, her eyes fell on her drink and she swore, because it was likely going tepid. 

 

She picked up her cup. The sides were smooth and warm in her hand, solid and familiar. The coffee smelt delicious, the foam on top a beautiful shade of pale brown speckled with rainbow filmed bubbles. She’d not hesitated. The cup came to her lips and she drank in long, greedy swallows, only thinking that maybe she might go for another in a few minutes because this one was so good. 

 

She’d picked up her pen again, intending to carry on sketching, except the page in front of her was misty around the edges. Tired eyes, she thought, trying to blink it away. But instead of clearing it was growing worse, as if she was looking at the world through a lens that was being smeared with progressively more and more grease. Her head suddenly felt heavy, as if a weight had been glued to her forehead, and everything inside her body seemed to be slowing down, her blood going thick and claggy in her veins, her brain clamming up in a hard mass where thoughts crawled slowly. She felt her fingers fumble, and her pen drew a jagged scrawl over her sketch. Something was wrong, seriously and desperately wrong, but the world was going into slow motion and she felt as if she were swimming in tar. 

 

Arthur, she thought with the last functioning part of her. I need to call Arthur. Her cellphone was on the table, and she groped at it, exhausting herself with the effort. Her head was swirling as she hit the speed dial, fingers of blackness clawing at the edge of her vision. His phone started to ring, muddy and distant in her ear as if she was calling him from another planet. “Arthur,” she mumbled, gripping the table edge as she felt her body start to sway in her chair, bending and melting like soft wax. “Arthur, help,” she wheezed to the ring as it carried on, and on, and on as her body finally dissolved into liquid. The click of her call picking up and a tiny tinny voice too far away to reach, the crash of the table and the calling to some mademoiselle a long way off, it all came threading through the darkness around her, catching her for a moment before she fell into its warm, thick embrace. 

 

~*~

 

After that was nothing. A long, empty space in her head. A floating loss of herself, bordered by sensations that might as well have been happening miles from her. Cold, motion, the rough scratch of fabric on her skin, a pinprick of pain, then nothing again, stretching on and on. So there she stayed, rocking and drifting, like a baby waiting to be born from a vast, deep ocean of blankness. 

 

~*~

 

She came to with a thick head, her eyes feeling swollen and heavy in their sockets. Her hair was hanging over her face, itching and dirty with the smell of sweat and grease. She could feel that she was propped up against something cold, metallic and uneven, her legs pulled straight out in front of her and her arms back behind her. Her shoulders, neck and back were thrumming with discomfort, a heavy ache that turned into a hot pain when she tried to move. Metal bands bit into her wrists as she twisted, the chink of a chain grating in metal on metal protest, pulling her back as she attempted to yank herself forward. The floor under her crackled, and squinting down she could see a white plastic sheet spread under her bound legs and butt. The room she was in smelt dusty and stale, and when she shook her hair aside to glance around she could see it was bare, damp spreading on the plaster up to where the walls met the sloping ceiling, and dark wooden boards for a floor. A single bulb hung from a yellowed light fixture in the centre of the room, but since there was natural light she figured there must be a window above her head.

 

The panic came over her in a sudden crash, all the pieces slotting into place and leaving her staring at a terrifying realisation. She’d been kidnapped, and now she was being held god knew where by god knew who. They must know who she was, her brain chattered, they must want her money or her skill, or else her value to someone else and if they didn’t get it would they torture her, or kill her or—

 

A door opened to her left, and a draft of cool, fresh air washed over her. Heavy footsteps clunked across the floor and stopped next to her. She tried to remain still, head down and breathing even, trying to fake sleep. 

 

“Stop it, I know you are awake.” The voice was male, heavily accented English. He crouched down next to her, and then her hair was dragged back from her face by a rough hand. Another grasped her chin, making her look up and squint in the light. The man was thick set, his head shaved and his skin so pale white it was almost blue. His eyes were large, green and surrounded by the wrinkles made by his smile, playing on his full, over sensuous mouth. His clothes were dark, non descript and the same as any casual Parisian man might wear. He could have been on any street, any time and no one would know. 

 

“Had a good look, hmm?” He lifted his eyebrows at her. “You cooperate and this will end well for you and me.”

 

“What do you want?” Ariadne’s tongue felt clumsy around the words. 

 

“What’s in your head, petite.” He beamed and she swallowed down the knot that was blooming in her throat. “There are some very important people who are very interested in you and what you’ve done.”

 

“Who?” She demanded roughly, yanking at her restraints again, making them clatter and grind in protest. “I won’t give you anything until you tell me who and why.”

 

“You’re so feisty. I like that.” His hand tightened around her jaw. “You’re like a little cat who has grown up wild. All claws and teeth, biting and scratching. I would like to try tame you, little puss. Would you like that?”

 

Ariadne fought the dryness in her mouth, and spat as hard as she could into his face. He looked stunned for a moment, the smile falling off his features as he jerked back, then touched the wad of saliva splattered onto nose and cheek. “I will fight you all the way.” Ariadne swore. “You better never turn your back or close your eyes, because I will find a way to make sure I am the last woman you ever threaten like that.” 

 

“Brave words,” he wiped his face clean. “But don’t worry. When I am done,” he leant forward, fisting her hair in a painful grip that yanked her head back making starbursts of pain flicker over her eyeballs, his voice grating and low with promise as he put his lips to her ear, “you won’t mind at all.”

 

The taste of her fear was bitter in her mouth, coating her tongue and lips as he leaned back, smiling at her again. “Now,” he started, but as he spoke the door exploded inwards with an incredible sound of splintering wood and huge force. Ariadne felt herself jerk with shock, and the man next to her let go, his head whipping round and his hand fumbling to his waist just as Arthur strode into the room, his gun levelled and his face set into a mask of cold, controlled energy. 

 

“Don’t move,” he ordered, just as the man drew his gun and fired, hitting the door frame in a wild move. 

 

“One step and she dies,” the man jammed his gun against Ariadne’s forehead, the cold smack of the barrell on bone making her reel. Arthur glanced at her, one short flick of his eyes and slowly put up his gun. “Better,” the man said cheerfully. “Now, pass it to me.” Arthur grasped his gun by the barrel and held it out, watching as the man carefully stood and approached him. 

 

“You came alone?” 

 

Arthur didn’t reply, remaining in place as the man edged closer. “Foolish if you did, no? Where are the others?” The man demanded, his hand closing on Arthur’s gun just as Arthur lashed out with his foot, aiming a vicious kick into his groin. He pulled back, striking with his gun handle and slamming into the man’s face as he doubled over. As the man’s gun arm flew wide Arthur’s free hand clamped around his forearm, pushing it against his body, forcing him back into the far wall with a crack. Arthur’s knee slammed into his groin again and again, making him groan. Ariadne couldn’t see what happened but suddenly Arthur had him collapsed to his knees, his arm twisted up at a vicious angle as his wrist was bent forwards. Arthur lashed out again, striking the man’s stomach with his foot and his face with a bone crunching slam from his knee. The man’s head hit the wall with a sickening thud, just as Arthur twisted the gun free from his hand with another bony snap. The man grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, his body rolling down as Arthur dropped his arm, and pinned him to the floor with his foot, aiming his gun at him. 

 

“Ariadne,” Arthur said between controlled breaths. “Are you alright?” 

 

“I’m OK.” She managed thickly. “I’m uncomfortable, but I’m OK. He gave me something that made me sleep.” 

 

“He hasn’t used the PASIV on you. There isn’t one here, and besides he wouldn’t know how. Who hired you?” Arthur demanded, his foot pressing down into the man’s abdomen. He groaned, spat blood onto the floor and groaned again. 

 

“Vincent Van Go fuck yourself, Arthur.” 

 

“Don’t make me kill you, Mitchell.” Arthur’s heel ground down, making him yelp. “You’re not smart enough to be working alone.” 

 

“Oh yes? Maybe I’ve been studying.” 

 

“Shut up,” Arthur snarled, kicking him in the gut again. 

 

“I’m not working for anyone,” Mitchell wheezed. “I’m too low on the food chain, Arthur. You have to believe me.” 

 

Arthur was about to reply as Mitchell suddenly made a grab for his leg with his good hand, felling Arthur and lurching to stand up. Ariadne fought against her bindings as Arthur hit the floor with his arms wide, rolling onto his upper back and coiling his legs up then sending them out in a furious double footed kick. Mitchell swerved left as Arthur’s feet hit the floor, and with a fluid move that seemed come out of the ground beneath him he rose up, just as Mitchell’s fist slammed into his left cheek. Arthur rolled back, and just as Mitchell was drawing in for another blow he turned, his elbow lashing out and his fist arcing into Mitchell’s eye socket. Mitchell staggered, clasping his good hand to his eye, as Arthur clamped onto the back of his skull slammed him bodily into the wall, face first. Mitchell gurgled and slumped, falling to his knees, panting and whimpering as Arthur groped in his pocket, pulling out a couple of thick, black zip ties, yanking Mitchell’s arms back and securing them at the wrist, making him keen in pain again. Arthur pushed him onto his stomach and fastened his ankles, leaving him face down on the floor. 

 

When he turned and looked at her, Ariadne could see the bruise blossoming on his cheek, the gash splitting his lower lip, but what held her attention was the look in his eyes. The hard, bright focus on her, then an infinitesimal softening as he holstered his gun and came towards her. “You’re OK,” he murmured, reaching above her head and coming back with a small silver key. He knelt next to her, his fingers feeling around the chain at her back, something snicked and her arms flopped free. “OK, you’re OK.” He moved in front of her, releasing her ankles as she groaned with relief. “Give me your hands.” His palms were warm, chaffing around her cold fingers and thumbs when she held them out with a wince. 

 

“What happened? I don’t remember anything since Paris; I was going to meet you both, and I stopped to get a coffee. It had something in it, it must have because I started to feel weird and then he was there—” The words tumbled out, relief clutching at her as she looked at him, trying to twist her fingers around his just to feel his steady grasp around her. He was here, and she was safe, and that thought was all that she could find in her head.

 

“He gave you a sedative and relaxant,” Arthur spoke calmly as he looked into her eyes, examining her. “You’ve been out for about three days. You’re going to feel a little weak and dizzy when you stand up. I’m going to get you some water.” Arthur glanced down at the plastic underneath her. “Do you need the bathroom?” 

 

Ariadne tried to shake her head, but her neck protested. “I don’t think so. My mouth tastes bad. Why did he take me?” 

 

“I’m hoping he’ll tell us in a moment or two.” Arthur stroked her cheek with his fingers, the touch so gentle it almost made her want to break down and confess everything, how terrified she’d been, how many frightening scenarios had crossed her mind, the relief, the pure kinetic beauty of him bursting into the room for her. Not here, she told herself, not now. 

 

“Thank you,” she said thickly. His hand came to rest on the back of her neck, and for a moment he just looked at her, the hard lines of his face relaxing a fraction. 

 

“I always take care of what’s mine.” He answered quietly, firmly, brooking no argument. The words hit her, punching inside and dispersing with a hot shock, leaving her to gape at him wordlessly. His, he’d called her his, and he’d come for her not just because she was valuable or he needed her skills, but because she was under his protection. “You need water,” his tone shifted suddenly, crisp and authoritative. “Eames!”

 

There was a shuffle outside the room, and Eames appeared around the battered remains of the door, holding a water bottle. He glanced at Mitchell, who had twisted his head around at the noise. “Your mates are having a snooze, dipshit.” He said blandly, stepping neatly over his legs. “Here,” he passed the water to Arthur, looking down at her with the faintest narrowing of his eyes. “I was going to ask why you did such a number on him, but I see no questions are required.” 

 

“Get him off the floor.” Arthur threw over his shoulder before he refocused on her, snapped the bottle open and held it to her lips as she took a long, desperate gulp. The sweet, clean rush of it in her mouth and down her throat was wonderful, as if her body was unfurling from a dried husk. She wanted to suck it down, guzzle it in pints until she was a sluice running with it, but Arthur’s grip shifted and moved the bottle away from her. “No. You need to take it slowly,” he insisted quietly as she panted from her swallows. “It’s a rehydration solution.” 

 

“I’m thirsty,” she tried to reach for the bottle, but her arms felt rubbery and useless.   
“Too much, too soon and you’ll get stomach cramps.” Arthur held the bottle up and let her swallow again. His eyes stayed on hers as she drank, as if he knew that her sense of relief was drawing from him. “I promise I’ll get you some solid food, a bath and a comfortable bed as soon as we’re done here. Did Mitchell say anything to you?” 

 

“Not much. Just that some people wanted information from me. He suggested he might be going to try and extract it.” She took another gulp of water.

 

“I see,” Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Alright, sit back.” He took off his jacket, pulled something from the inside pocket and tucked away, then rolled it up and put it behind her, helping her rest back against the wall. “This won’t take long.”

 

“What are you going to do to him?” Arthur put out his hand, cradling her cheek in his palm. His fingertips were gentle, the skin at the joints a little rougher, hardened from trigger pulls and gripping his gun. His gaze bored into her, brutal and focused as she’d ever seen him, and when he spoke his voice made a shiver run down her back. 

 

“I’m going to make sure that no one ever thinks of doing anything like this to you again.” 

 

Eames had left the room, and now returned, dragging a battered chair behind him. The legs bumped across the floorboards, and the sound made Mitchell start to wriggle and protest in his bonds. Eames set it in the middle of the floor, picked Mitchell up by his good arm and dumped him onto it with unceremonious efficiency, ignoring the words breaking off in gurgles of discomfort and the blood smeared on his clothes. He clamped one hand over Mitchell’s forehead and shoved backwards, forcing him to look up. Ariadne winced unconsciously as the mess of his face became visible. One eye swollen and going black, a long gash on one cheekbone that was weeping blood, both lips split and puffy, his forehead marked red from where Arthur had slammed it into the wall. 

 

“Oh Mitchell, you little junkie shit stain. What have you got yourself into this time, eh?” Eames’ tone was cold. 

 

“Fuck. You.” Mitchell slurred back, a broken pair of front teeth visible behind his wrecked mouth. “You don’t...fucking scare me... _Philip_.”

 

Eames smirked mirthlessly. “Witty to the last. Much though I am enjoying this banter, I am merely here as a supporting player. I do believe you’ve met the star of the show already. So here’s the deal, Mitchell. You tell us everything, we let you live and Arthur roughs you up just enough to make you think twice about making stupid fucking decisions like this again. Hmm?”

 

“Did you...not...hear me?” Mitchell tried to sneer. 

 

“Oh dear, I did so hope you would take the easy route, like always.” Eames’ snapped his hand away, making Mitchell’s head whiplash to his chest. “All yours, Arthur.”

 

Arthur stood, picking up the cuffs that had been used to bind Ariadne, letting the chains rattle together before he tossed them to Eames. “Restrain him properly.” 

 

As Eames got to work, Arthur began to walk in a slow circles around the chair where Mitchell was being cuffed, his measured steps making the floorboards creak. As he moved, his pace no faster than a heartbeat, Arthur unknotted his tie, rolling it up and tucking it in his pocket, then with careful, deliberate movements, undid his cuffs and rolled up his shirt sleeves. His shoulder rig was a heavy black in the thin light, stark against the whiteness of his shirt. He flexed his fingers a few times, all while Mitchell watched him, but Arthur never once looked his way.

 

“Get his head,” Arthur instructed when Eames was done with the cuffs. Mitchell struggled as Eames clamped his skull, snarling and spitting. 

 

“Stay still or I’ll break your fucking neck.” Eames grip was so hard his fingertips had gone white. Arthur slowly put his hand in his hip pocket and drew out a small vial full of clear liquid and a syringe with a long, fine needle. He flicked the cap from the needle and smoothly pierced the vial’s seal, drawing the contents into the barrel. 

 

“What’s that?” A note of panic had entered Mitchell’s voice. Arthur flicked the syringe and expressed a little through the needle, watching as it glittered in the thin light. 

 

“Hold his eye open,” Arthur advanced on Mitchell as Eames moved one hand and wrenched his puffy, damaged eye open, prising the upper and lower lids apart with a finger and thumb. 

 

“What is that? Shit, not in my eye, please, not in my eye. Don’t put the needle in there, oh my God—” All Ariadne could see was Arthur’s back, blocking her view as he leant over. Mitchell’s pleading broke off in a thin shriek, his feet kicking and his body twisting. Arthur backed away, recapping the syringe as Eames let Mitchell go, his body slumped as he panted out in pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my God, oh my God…” A drop of blood was running down his cheek and his left eye was screwed shut. 

 

“Now,” Arthur said coldly, “in a minute or two whatever you’re flying on is going to stop working. All the pain in your body is going to ramp up to ten, and you’re going to wish you could pass out from it. But you’re not going to be able to.” 

 

“You’re fucking lying.” Mitchell tried. 

 

“You think? Let’s wait and see, shall we?” Arthur tucked his hands in his pockets, still as stone as Mitchell glanced around desperately, his good eye flicking spasmodically from left to right. His skin had taken on a waxy sheen, and the sweat slicking his forehead and cheeks was oily over his natural pallor, mixing with the blood in rivulets of pink. 

 

“What’s he done to me?” He tried to squinch his head around towards Eames, who had retreated behind him, leaning against the wall and lighting a cigarette. “Please,” Mitchell begged, turning to Ariadne. “I didn’t hurt you. Tell him that, please. Oh fuck,” His face screwed up, jaw tight and gasping in air through his nose. 

 

“Can you feel that?” Arthur asked calmly. “It’s only going to get worse. If we do anything else to you it’s going to hurt a hell of a lot more.”

 

“Please,” Mitchell whimpered through gritted teeth. “I didn’t— Oh my God.” He let out a shrill squeal and his body shook as every muscle in him seemed to tense at once. 

 

“I can knock you out and you can sleep it all off,” Arthur advanced on him, step by slow step. “I can do that just as soon as you tell us who hired you and why. It’s that simple.”

 

“They’ll kill me, they’ll kill me, they’ll —” Mitchell chanted, “Ah, Jesus Fucking Jesus Christ please.” Tears ran down his face as he pleaded between furious gouts of breath. 

 

“Who was it?” Arthur leaned in, his face bare inches from Mitchell’s. His voice was a razor, slicing through the sounds of agony filling the air. 

 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” His back arched as he shook. 

 

“Eames, hold him.” Arthur reached for the syringe and Mitchell yelled out.

 

“No! No, please! Make him stop!” When he looked at her Ariadne could see the whites of his eyes, the bloody bloom where the needle had gone in marring the surface of his left eye, and the panic rolling off him in waves. This was the reality of their lives, the thought cut through the thickness clouding her head. All the dreaming covering a brutal game of kill or be killed, run fast or get caught, and like it or not she’d become complicit in it the minute she’d gone back to the warehouse that day. This man pleading and begging for mercy had drugged and abducted her, held her prisoner and prepared to pass her on as if she was no more than an object to be ripped apart or used for another's gain. Maybe she should feel sorry, it occurred to her, but she didn’t. 

 

“Tell him what he wants to know.” She spoke slowly and deliberately. 

 

“I didn’t hurt you! I didn’t!” He wailed as Eames’ arm looped around his neck. 

 

“Who was it?” Ariadne insisted as Arthur uncapped the syringe again. 

 

“No, no, no, no! It was Alodia! Alodia! Please!” He garbled, staring into her face as Arthur leant over him and Eames wrenched his eye open, making him break off in a shriek. 

 

“Why?” Arthur must have been holding the needle so close to his eyeball that couldn’t have been more than a hair’s breadth from pricking the membrane. 

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know!” Mitchell chanted, his words slurring into a blur. “Called me from Ukraine, said it would be half then and half after I got her. Said their client was good for it, I shouldn’t worry, I’d be OK, please, please.” He begged. “I can’t stand it, I can’t.” 

 

“Lying,” Arthur said baldly. Eames’ grip tightened and Mitchell screamed this time, the sound bouncing crazily around the walls. 

 

“They want to use her! Said it was Browning! Peter Browning! Please, no more, please!”

 

“Let him go.” Arthur nodded to Eames, who let Mitchell slump into his chair, twisting as the sounds of pain still bubbled out of him. A dark stain covered the crotch of his jeans and tear spatters marked the front of his shirt. 

 

“Listen to me,” Arthur crouched down, lowering himself into Mitchell’s eyeline, his voice level and calm and cold. “When Alodia come for you, you tell them what happened here. Then you tell them that this is _nothing_ to what I will do if they or anyone they hire tries to pull this shit again. Ariadne is under my protection. _I will burn down anyone who touches her._ Understand?” 

 

Mitchell whimpered.

 

“I said, do you understand?” Arthur grabbed Mitchell’s chin and forced his head up. 

 

“I do, I do. I’ll tell them, OK? I’ll tell them. Make it stop now, please make it stop now.” His voice had gone thready and weak, his face locked in a grimace as he panted through his nose. 

 

Arthur nodded, and Eames stepped forward, holding a wad of cloth in his hand. He clasped it over Mitchell’s mouth and nose as he struggled, the muffled sound of him wailing fading out as he went limp and his eyes flickered shut. 

 

“Do you believe him?” Eames asked as Arthur handed him the key to the cuffs. 

 

“For now. I’ll dig around some more when we’re out of here.” 

 

“Who’s Alodia?” Ariadne butted in, and she frowned as Arthur and Eames shared a tense glance. “He took me for them. Tell me.” She insisted through fog swimming around her head. The furious burst of fear induced wakefulness was wearing off, and a strange, drunken feeling was rolling over in its place. Her head felt too heavy for her neck, and so many parts of her ached and throbbed it seemed impossible to catalogue them all. 

 

Arthur came back to Ariadne’s side, unrolling his jacket and draping around her shoulders. “Alodia is not a person, they’re a group. Three specialists, working as a team like Cobb and I, an extractor, an architect and a thief. They’re reasonably proficient.” He admitted dryly. “Not as good as we were, but they get things done.” 

 

“Why would Browning want them? Do you think he knows something happened to Robert?” Ariadne accepted another gulp of water when Arthur held the bottle to her mouth.

 

“That is the fifteen million dollar question.” Eames had heaved Mitchell from the chair was laying him in the recovery position. 

 

“I’ve not heard anything. But I’m going to double check as soon as I can.” Arthur looked her over. “I’m going to try and help you stand up, OK?” He sounded soft again, and the contrast made her shiver. He put an arm around her waist, gently coaxing her up to standing. Her feet skittered and her head swam, and she could see him frowning when she swayed and her legs tried to buckle. 

 

“It’s OK,” his grip tightened. “I’ve got you.”

 

“I’m sorry. I kind of feel like my body doesn’t belong to me.” She grabbed his shoulder as the room tipped and swung again. “Or my head. Shit, this is worse than vodka on an empty stomach.”

 

“It’s the stuff he gave you. Hold on.” Keeping his grasp at her waist, he put his other arm behind her knees and picked her up. “Alright?” He regarded her seriously, a faint crease between his eyebrows.

 

“Thank you,” Ariadne let her head rest by his shoulder. God, why did it feel so simple? She asked. Because that’s what you like, she told herself. You like that he’s strong. You like that he takes control. You like that he’s going to protect you. 

 

“Come on, Eames.” Arthur prompted. She heard the cuffs clatter to the floor, then Eames appeared at his shoulder. 

 

“He’s out for the count. If they come for him he should live.” His eyes were flat even as he smiled and patted her arm. “Let’s get you out of here, sweetheart.” 

 

“Where is here?” She managed. She could smell Arthur’s cologne and his skin, and the feel of his arms around her was just so incredibly good. It was all adding to the loopy feeling that was starting in her head, waves of happiness fizzing gently on the shores of her brain and sparkling in her blood. 

 

“Just outside Warsaw.” Eames replied. His eyes were so blue. Why had she never noticed that before?

 

“Can we see the Palace of Culture and Science?” She asked vaguely. “And go to Praga?” 

 

“Next time.” Arthur promised, carrying her out of the room, down a dingy hallway and a flight of creaking stairs, and out into the cold. The garden was overgrown, and from the outside the house almost looked like a cottage from a fairy tale, grey and crumbling where it wasn’t being swallowed with ivy. Her head was starting to feel like a balloon barely tethered to her body, only needing her to let go for a second for it to sail off into the blue sky. _Balloon, moon,_ her brain chanted idiotically, _The woman in the moon came down too soon_. _That’s no moon,_ Obi Wan Kenobi intoned heavily from over Han Solo’s shoulder, and she snorted with laughter into Arthur’s collar. 

 

“What?” 

 

“I was thinking that...you’re just like Han Solo. So I could be Princess Leia.” _Leia, Leia, Jabba the Hutt slayer,_ another stupid voice in her head sing songed. “What the hell did he give me?” 

 

“Nothing that will do you any long term harm. Mitchell isn’t that stupid.” He carefully set her in the back seat of the non descript car parked outside, belted her in and then gently kissed her mouth, his fingers lingering under her chin. As he moved back she could see the warmth in his eyes, the worry fleeting across them. 

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He said softly. 

 

“It’s OK.” she fumbled for his other hand and clasped his fingers as hard as she could. “I know who you are. I know why you did it. I’m not completely naive. I don’t think you handle projections just by using, I don't know, harsh language and that scowl.” 

 

His lips twisted into a wry smile for a moment. “This is different, Ariadne. I meant what I said. I will always protect you.” He promised, the fierce note in his tone a whisper of steel. “I will never let them reach you again.” 

 

Ariadne gave him a lover's grin, aiming one hand to hold his cheek. Her heart felt full, and all of a sudden it was vitally, desperately important that she told him the truth. "I know. I love that about you. Not so much the beating the shit out of people, but more...I love how you can take command of a situation. Get shit done. You should do that more. With me. It would really, really work for me. You just get this look on your face and it’s amazing. All of it. I love it. I love you.” 

 

Arthur was staring at her, the surprise evident on his face. "Do you mean that?" He replied slowly.

 

“Which part?” She wanted to laugh at his stunned expression, his widened eyes and parted lips. All knowing Arthur, caught blindsided by her. “The fact I love you? Or the fact I want you to dominate the everloving shit out of me? I like strong men. I like knowing you can take care of me, Arthur.” She leaned forward, capturing his mouth in a clumsy, earnest kiss. “And I love you, because of everything.” She smiled stupidly at him, watching as his brow smoothed out and an answering smile started to bloom on his lips. “Oh God, you’re so hot.” She pressed her hand against his dimpled cheek, letting her little finger rest over the spot. “God I wish you’d just—”

 

“Later, alright?” Arthur swooped down and cut her off with a short, hard, toe curling kiss on her mouth. “We’ll talk about this later. We’re going to get somewhere safe, and we’ll have lots of time to discuss everything.”

 

“‘Yes, Arthur.” She said happily. Her body felt softer now, the lightness wrapping around her in a cocoon. She felt the drifting current of her thoughts pulsing back and forth, a warm, restful lull like a peaceful tropical sea. Arthur was still holding her hands, anchoring her with his touch and his eyes and his smell, guarding her, keeping her safe. 

 

Eames opened the driver’s door, breaking her reverie with a start. “We’re good. Are you riding back there?” He glanced at Arthur in the rear view mirror as he settled into his seat. 

 

Arthur’s voice sounded a little gruffer than usual. “Yeah. You can drive first.” He climbed in next to her and put an arm firmly around her shoulders, encouraging her to flop against him. As Eames bounced the car down a road that felt like it was more ruts than asphalt, she pressed her face into Arthur’s creamy white shirt. She could feel his hand stroking her arm, and hear his heartbeat under her ear. Her totem was digging into her hip, a reassuring discomfort. There was nowhere she could go and nothing she could do right now; she was perfectly safe and nothing would harm her; and the peace of that knowing rolled over her, and carried her into genuine rest. 

~*~  
Part of her always wished she didn’t remember the journey to Gothenburg. Its peaceful beginning aside, the rest was a blur of feeling iller than she’d done since she was a kid, like a hangover that stretched into a wall of a blinding headache, nausea and thirst alternating in jagged waves that nothing seemed to soothe. She slept in ragged bursts in the cars they changed first in Germany then Sweden, feeling drained out and grey when she woke, checking her totem everytime, and everytime finding herself in her own reality. 

 

The ferry ride to Trelleborg was nightmare. A urinary tract infection had started gripping her lower abdomen, and an autumn storm whipping the Baltic sea made the boat pitch and heave so violently that everything became an agony of motion and pain. She spent the five hour journey in the tiny, cold bathroom of their shoebox cabin, her totem clamped in her fist, sweating, shivering and clinging to the basin as she went from vomiting to praying she could just pee and make the appalling burning sensation stop, and back. Arthur had been there, making her drink more rehydration solution, then a saltier version that nearly made her vomit by itself, until she felt as if she was a slug, pouring with sticky liquid from every part of her. She might have pleaded for him to make it all stop, cursing and crying in snotty jags before doubling over again, his hands holding back her hair or rubbing her back, his face tired, drawn and anxious when it swam into focus for a moment before the room tilted again, making her grab the walls with weak arms. She heard Eames talking in the cabin, words jumbling in her head as she tried to follow what he was saying. Sometimes he appeared at the bathroom door with more bottles of rehydration solution, looking at her with a deep sympathy. He and Arthur had spoken briefly once that she recalled, a fragment of conversation between the lurching puking pissing pain that was filling her up.

 

“I’ve ordered some trimethoprim for when we get to Trelleborg. The ship’s doctor is useless.” Eames was handing Arthur another bottle of water as he spoke. “She’s a mess, and all he’s got are travel sickness pills.”

 

“Good,” Arthur replied shortly. 

 

“Do you want me to take over for a bit?” Eames eyed her from the doorway. “You’ve been going for nearly twenty fours hours straight.”

 

“No, I’ve got this.” Arthur smoothed back her hair again, never looking away from her. 

 

“Please,” she might have groaned. “Arthur I can’t fucking stand it.”

 

“Ariadne,” he lifted her chin, wiping her face with a cool, damp cloth. “We can’t sedate you again. Everything Mitchell gave you needs to leave your system.”

 

“Can’t, please.” Her tears felt sticky. 

 

“You can,” Arthur said. “Eames will get you some meds when we get to Sweden. I need you to hang on. You’re stronger than this. The pain is temporary. When it goes, you’ll still be here.” His hand held her firmly, forcing her to look at him. “Listen to me. You will make it through this.”

 

The boat pitched again, and any reply telling him _thank you, but really he could go fuck himself_ got lost as her gorge rose, he let her free and the vomit urinate cycle started again. But this time, amid the reeling world around her, she remembered him speaking, she felt him with her and despite wishing he never, ever had to see her like this, part of her was comforted. 

 

~*~

 

The first thing she noticed in Gothenburg was the smell of the sea, and the clear, pale light. She had drowsed up the coastal highway in between bathroom breaks and the soft sound of Eames singing along to something on the radio. The car stopping had jerked her awake, and as she glanced around blearily the buildings around her sparkled and winked back. The wind was icy fresh and ozonic, blasting around her in a vicious cold as Arthur helped her from the car. He pulled his jacket tighter around her when she shivered, and slowly walked her through the cold, across the cobbles and into a warm, calm, fragrant hotel lobby.

 

Ariadne felt like a dirty, wrung out rag, and was prepared to bet she looked like one too, but the receptionist smiled as if she saw things like that every day, smoothly taking Arthur’s booking with a few taps at her keyboard and sliding a pair of card keys across the polished counter with her perfect pink nailed hand. 

 

“The luggage you sent ahead is in your suite. Enjoy your stay,” she said in perfect English. “And I hope your wife feels better soon.”

 

“Thank you,” Arthur pocketed the keys, leading Ariadne to the elevator. 

 

“Wife?” She mumbled. “Wow. I’ve never been your wife before.”

 

“Well, it saves having to use two false names.” Arthur’s arm tightened around her. “And maybe I wanted to try it out. Being your husband.” He hesitated for a moment, then carried on roughly. “Letting people know that I love you.”

 

“Arthur,” she tilted her head up to look at him, finding him already looking at her. He looked exhausted, dark smudges under his eyes and stubble on his cheeks. Her throat closed, and the giddy rush in her head had nothing to do with her detoxing. 

 

“I thought so many fucking awful things, Ariadne. I thought he might have killed you, or sold you to someone to use, or be torturing you all while I couldn’t do anything.” His mouth was set in a hard line, and he swallowed. “I love you,” he whispered, as if saying it any louder would make the words evaporate. “I love you, and they took you before I could say it, and it made me terrified I wouldn’t get the chance.”

 

The elevator dinged in front of them. “I’m OK, Arthur.” She croaked, reaching up with one hand and pressing it to his cheek. “You got me in time. I’m OK.” 

 

He turned his head and put a kiss in her palm, breathing out and in again against her skin. “And I won’t let it happen again,” he said quietly. 

 

~*~

The suite was beautifully plain, white and cream with blonde and toffee striped wooden floors. The bed beckoned her invitingly with it’s cool wide expanse of comfort, but Arthur steered her across the room to the ensuite. “I promised you a bath, a warm bed and some food, didn’t I? Bath first.”

 

Arthur ran her a bath, letting her fish her totem from her hip pocket before helping her undress then stand in the tub while he washed her from top to toe, ignoring the soap that got on his shirt. He scrubbed and rinsed her hair clean and deftly wiped her face before he let her relax back into the warm water with a grateful sigh. The sensation was wonderful, as if she’d been newly born into a perfect, soft, fresh world. Her skin was pink against the bone white tub, swaddled in the last of the soap bubbles, as if it had never come to any harm. With a careful hand, she put her totem on the rim of the tub and pushed. It fell with a clink, rolling towards her, forcing her to grab it before it hit the water. Not a dream then, she reassured herself. 

 

Arthur came back with a large white towel and a large glass of water. After carefully rinsing between her legs again with clean water, helped her out and wrapped her in the towel’s snowy purity. “Drink this,” he held the glass to her mouth, letting her gulp down the plain water to the last drop, then set to rubbing her dry.

 

“I feel about six again,” she said lightly as he dried her off. “About as strong as I did at six too.” 

 

“That’ll change when you eat something.” Arthur smiled wryly at her, towelling off her legs and finishing by gently patting her toes. “But you need to sleep first, in a bed that isn’t travelling at seventy kilometres per hour.”

 

“I slept all the way here,” she protested mildly, right as a huge, jaw cracking yawn overtook her.

 

“You need real rest. We both do.” Arthur led her out into the suite, where fresh pyjamas lay on the end of the bed, new and crisp. He helped her put them on, and then tenderly helped her into bed when she swayed on her feet. 

 

“I feel like I got hit by a truck and then had all the juice sucked out of me.” She told her pillow. 

 

“You were pretty unwell,” Arthur tucked her hair back and kissed her cheek. 

 

“You were there though. Thank you for being there. Thank you for getting me back. Thank you for all this.” She opened her eyes, and he was looking at her with the softest smile she’d ever seen him wear. “I love you too, Arthur.” She said, smiling back at him drowsily. 

 

“I know,” he said, kissing her again as her eyes closed. 

 

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

 

When she’d finally woken up, having slept right through the first day and into to the next morning, she found Arthur already awake, dressed in jeans and a sweater, seated at the table with Eames where they were talking in quiet voices. As she shuffled into the room, still sleep mussed and ragingly hungry they’d both looked round, then Arthur was out of his seat, across the suite and kissing her good morning before she could protest. 

 

“You look better,” he smoothed her hair back and kissed her again. “Are you hungry?” 

 

“My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.” She groused. “Please tell me we have some carbs around here somewhere.”

 

Arthur grinned. “Coming right up. Would you like some coffee? I’m sure you shouldn’t have it yet,” He led her to the table. “But I think you’re probably sick of plain water and rehydration solution by now.” 

 

“I think I’m hydrated enough to be considered a lake.” She sat down, reaching greedily for the cup of coffee Eames was pouring her.

 

“You do look better.” Eames looked her over consideringly as she guzzled her drink.“You looked like a sack of shit when we got here, not your radiant self at all.” 

 

“Thanks,” she pushed her cup over for a refill. “So, what have you been doing while I was out for the count?” 

 

Arthur came back from the room service phone and sat down. “We were looking into Alodia.”

 

“Did you find anything?” Ariadne made herself sip her new coffee. A little slower would probably be easier on her system. 

 

Eames raised his eyebrows and sighed. “They’ve been fishing around. Someone approached Yusuf in Hong Kong yesterday. Ham fistedly enough for him to deflect them, I might add, but not before he managed to steal their mobile and wallet. Saved numbers triangulating to a tower in the Ukraine,” Eames pushed some papers forward with his index finger. 

 

“There’s been some chatter in the community too. They’re digging for information on Robert and his father, and not very subtly.” Arthur twisted his lips with distaste. “They’re coming up blank, because all anyone has is rumors. It appears they’ve got a little desperate recently, and decided on a direct move against us.” Ariadne felt her gut go cold as Eames cleared his throat. 

 

“We did some background on what happened in Paris.” He turned Arthur’s laptop around, a grainy CCTV image appeared, herself, at the cafe table, clutching her cellphone. Her body tipping, knocking the table as she fell to the floor. People crowding around, then a familiar figure crouching over her, taking her pulse, slyly pocketing her phone and then picking her bodily off the ground, her head lolling and her hair swaying in the air. She gripped her coffee cup tighter, the shock of seeing herself suddenly appalling. Arthur grabbed the screen and turned it away. “So you see,” Eames carried on. “Mitchell apparently swooped in, claiming he was a friend meeting you for coffee after a heavy night on the town, and that he would take you home to sleep it off, since you were obviously still three sheets to the wind. It was pretty fucking bold, but he seems to have known Arthur and I would be at the airport, and where you were likely to go, and that probably helped him. Since Mitchell’s the intellectual equal of a cockroach, he obviously had help tracking and monitoring us.”

 

“They would do that?” Ariadne frowned. “That’s—” She shook her head. 

 

“It’s desperate, and it backfired.” Arthur finished. “We came out here to get them off the scent, and to force them to come to us. They’ll have found Mitchell by now, and heard what he had to say. So they know that if they really want to know what happened, they’re going to have to make contact.”

 

“Then what do we do?” Ariadne asked.

 

“We can stop them for good. If we need to,” Arthur added. “Cooperation is one thing. Healthy competition is another, but this is not either. They’re a closed unit, trying to make a power grab in the business. I won’t let them get away with it.” His eyes burned as they met hers.

 

“The advantage we have is that we can see what they’ve been up to, dear heart,” Eames’ grin, a sharp, cold smile that promised much, none of it very good, spread across his face. “So when the time comes, we can cut them off at the knees.”

 

Ariadne sat back, looking at him then Arthur. The image was brutal and bloody, but some cold, hard part of her remembered the attic room in Warsaw, and it grabbed the idea and held it close. 

 

“Well then,” she took another sip of coffee, her head cool and clear as an icicle. “We’ll do what we have to.” 

 

~*~

 

Arthur had been right, of course. After a few days of solid food and more rest than she’d ever needed in her life it seemed, Ariadne felt as if she might actually enjoy being in a new city with new sights and things to experience. Arthur had got them both new winter clothes and boots, so when they had run over their progress with Eames in the mornings, they braved the biting wind to walk around the harbour, the botanical gardens, around the squares and along the canals full of eighteenth century stone houses; stopping for hot coffee and pastries to warm up before setting off again. Arthur seemed determined that she would have a good time, in one day taking her from the Feskekörka to the Central Station to the Göteborg Opera in a whirlwind architectural tour, then on the next taking her to do nothing but sample _fika_ in a handful of small, excellent cafes, each one with a different character. He seemed to be delighting in her enjoyment, watching her with his genuine, dimpled smile as she bit into her fifth pastry of the day or when she stopped outside the Göteborg Opera and laughed with silly delight “It really is like the wings of a seagull.” 

 

He was careful about the subject of her abduction, but when she talked he listened, quietly, calmly, sometimes holding her hands in his when she shook with the echoes of the terror she’d felt, or pulling her close when she woke from nightmares of being back in that tiny room.

 

“I should have been more careful. I should have seen something,” she’d berate herself, and he’d grasp her hands tighter or wrap her more firmly in his arms. 

 

“You are not to blame for this, Ariadne.” He repeated, over and over. “They’re desperate. But I am going to stop them. I am. They won’t hurt you again.” 

 

~*~

 

In the end it was Arthur who brought up the subject of the things she’d said after he carried her from the house in Warsaw. Some part of her had been avoiding it, partly because she couldn’t believe that she’d just blurted everything out like that, and partly because there didn’t seem to be a good way to ease it into conversation. Privately she hoped that Arthur had either forgotten (unlikely) or that he’d dismissed it as drug addled rambling (more likely, she reasoned.) Her detoxing and recovery had put paid to anything but kissing and some moderately heavy petting in any case. 

 

They’d been in Gothenburg for a week and half, and maybe it had been the wine at dinner, or maybe it was the fact she wanted to feel him around her, let him anchor her and that was making her crave him, but when they reached their suite that evening, Ariadne had grasped his tie gently and tugged him down for the filthiest kiss she could manage. “Take me to bed, Arthur.” She murmured into the space between their lips, running her hand down to brush over his covered cock and feeling it press into the curve of her palm in response.

 

“With pleasure, Ariadne.” His voice lingered over her name, and the sound sent a pleasant tremble through her. Then his mouth was back on hers, their hands were pulling and yanking at their clothes, headless of the nice things they’d dressed in for dinner. Ariadne threw his suit jacket on the floor as he peeled down the zipper of her dress. His shirt sailed over the couch and his tie fell forgotten to the bedroom floor. Her bra got crushed in under foot as he backed her up to the bed, then he was kicking away his suit trousers and socks, pulling her panties off and they hit the bed in a tangle of limbs. 

 

“Now,” Arthur breathed in her ear, his lips pressing to the soft spot where her jaw met her neck “didn’t you mention something that you wanted to try?”

 

“What?” Ariadne felt herself pull up short and blush so hard her skin felt like it was on fire. Oh shit, he’d remembered. 

 

Arthur pulled back, his hair awry and his face flushed. “You mentioned something, in Warsaw. The day you said you loved me.” He smiled at her so tenderly her breath caught, and when he kissed her it felt like she was drowning in him for a long moment. 

 

“I wasn’t quite myself,” she hedged. 

 

“No, I would agree. But I’ve known you for a while, and some things I’ve noticed about you suddenly made a lot more sense after you said it.” 

 

“Like what?” She tried to sound light. 

 

“When we met, you questioned everything about the job. About Cobb, about the design, about the technique, you questioned everything, and you flat out disobeyed implicit requests from him more than once. But when I told you to do something, you always did what I said. Why was that, Ariadne?” His smile had gotten a little darker. 

 

“I trusted you. You never tried to deceive me.”

 

“Oh but I did, don’t you remember?” He leaned closer and whispered. “Quick, give me a kiss.” 

 

She felt a spike of arousal in spite of herself. “I—” Her tongue felt stupid and her brain was reeling, half with shock and half, she realised, with relief. 

 

“There’s something that you mentioned, and if you want to try it, I’m happy to accede to your request. But you have to tell me, Ariadne.”

 

Ariadne could feel the sharp pang of embarrassment welling up. It was one thing to be naked in a hotel bed with Arthur, with his hands dawdling over her skin, his hair mussed and his damn wicked smile making her toes curl with want. It had been another to have dinner with him in Paris, and to kiss him until she felt drunk and desperate to break her promises of nothing more until they were both free to be together. But it was something else to be lying here with his body wrapped around hers, watching her with all his focus and purpose. 

"Ariadne," his voice was soft and firm. "I'm waiting. Tell me." 

Oh god, even him ordering her around was enough to make her shiver. And he noticed, because he pulled back, forcing her hands clasp his shoulders to make him stop. "I like— I want—" _Fucking hell, spit it out, Ariadne._ "I enjoy being submissive. I like to be dominated."

The look on Arthur's face was surprised, just for an instant, just like before, then he was looking at her with the faintest quirk playing around his lips. “I do believe your exact words were that I should dominate the everloving shit out of you. Why didn’t you tell me this before?” 

 

“I was— I was worried that it might turn you off. It’s not the easiest thing to mention, and some guys have a really hard time even just trying it, and with others it can be you say you like being submissive, the next thing you know then they assume you can’t even make a piece of toast or walk down the street without clinging on to them or bursting into tears. I’m not like that. It’s not like that.” She was babbling now, he’d reduced her to a chittering imbecile and nothing would make her brain stop.

“So what is it like?” He asked

 

“It’s like,” she groped for the words. “It’s like cops and robbers for grown ups, but with your pants off.” 

 

Arthur’s laugh was sudden and wonderful. “That’s quite the description.” He kissed the end of her nose. “So, you like to be submissive? Would you like to submit to me?” His voice had gone low and serious again.

 

“Yes.” A hot arrow of desire went down her body.

 

"And you want to be dominated. I’m not too familiar with the idea, or how especially it applies to you. " His eyes bored into hers, and she could feel her colour rising into her skin. "Tell me how."

"What you're doing right now is pretty good." She tried to sound light, but his expression didn't flicker. "When you said you take what you want, including me. Like that too."

"I see." His right hand was creeping up her ribcage, fingers tracing a pattern. "Are you my prize, then? Am I going to cherish and worship you as the precious thing you are? Or am I going to teach you what it means to have and keep all my attention, all my focus, all my desire? Like that?" 

"Yeah, like that." She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. 

"What else? Be specific. I need details." 

"I like being restrained." Her words felt breathless and hot in her mouth.

"With what? Rope? Cuffs? Zip ties? My ties?" His fingers were stroking the underside of her breast idly, slowly. 

"Anything that would do the job? I mean, maybe not cuffs right now." The memory of that stark little attic room and Mitchell leaning over her loomed up, and she pushed it away. 

"I understand. Do you want soft or hard?" 

"What? Oh god, I mean, I guess I've only ever tried soft things like, you know, scarves." 

"That seems logical. Do you like being blindfolded?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. 

"Sensations? Hot, cold...?"

"Yeah, I liked ice when I tried it."

"Pain?" The word hung in the air and he went utterly still, his hand resting gently on the swell of her breast. His eyes were so dark they looked pupiless.

This is really the part she was dreading. He'd been taking her confession so damn well, it had to have been lurking under the surface. The question everyone asks in the end, about how something that in everyday life no one wants, everyone avoids, isn't good or anything but a warning from broken or injured body parts can somehow be desirable in a different context. _When Arthur thinks of pain where does his mind go,_ she wondered? _Gunshots, stabbings, death in a mob of projections? No, focus on this. It’s not the same._

"I like having my hair pulled. Being spanked is OK too. I might want to try nipple clamps. Nothing else really appeals to me. I don't like blood, or cutting, or breaking skin. That's not what I enjoy." 

 

“Is there anything else you like?” 

 

“I kind of don’t mind the idea of having my butt played with.” She cringed inwardly at her juvenile phrasing. “I mean, I’m curious to try it.”

 

“With toys? Or anal sex?” Arthur pressed. “Or do you want to be anally trained?” _How could he make that sound so dirty?_ She wanted to squirm, the image was enough to make her soaking wet and he barely seemed to be moved at all.

 

“I’d like to start slowly. See if it’s good.” 

Arthur inhaled slowly, and his thumb brushed her nipple. "I have an idea." He wet his lips, and there was a sudden lupine cast to his smile. "Get up. " 

 

He threw back the sheets, and Ariadne scrambled to follow him. Seeing him reach for his undershirt and briefs she made to grab her underwear, only for Arthur to stop her. 

 

“No. You stay naked.” He ordered. She swallowed, and put her clothes down carefully. The anticipation was thrumming from deep inside her already, making her mouth water and her body tingle from scalp to toes. The room was warm, but she felt a prickle of goosebumps run over her skin as he ran a slow, considering look over her. It felt like a caress, and the thrum picked up a beat.

 

He grabbed his tie up from the floor, pulling it taut between his hands a few times, letting it slip from one fist and then coiling it into the other. It was a dark, navy blue that was so deep it almost could have been black, woven in blocks of herringbone. The pattern trailed up and down, lines working back and forth and around as he tested it, watching her watching him.

 

“Do you have a safe word?” He asked calmly. “Or would you like to pick a new one?” 

 

“I—?” Her mouth had to be hanging open. The part of her that had imagined he’d be repulsed had probably also imagined he would be ignorant, and that this would be a little like the times she’d coaxed partners from pulling her hair up to spanking and on to restraints. His questioning had implied he was new the idea, but now she wasn’t so sure. To hear him ask...How the hell did even he know to, right before they even began?

 

Arthur was still watching her, still working his tie from hand to hand. “I’m waiting.” 

 

“Purple.” She made herself reply. 

 

“Good. The boundaries are this: I won’t hurt you, draw blood or cause you strong pain. You will address me by my name, and obey me in all my commands. If you say purple, I will stop and this will end. Repeat your safe word to me so I know you agree.” 

 

“Yes, Arthur. Purple.” 

 

He came slowly towards her, his eyes fixed on her face. His look was dark, the lines of his face set in the hard focused shape she’d seen so often before when they were working together. But this was different, now the focus was her and the depth of that made her breath catch in her chest.  
“From now on, I am going to direct you. You will do just as I say, willingly and without question. You will not speak unless I ask you to. You will not come unless I want you to,” his smile was sharp and filthy as he lingered on her. “You disobey and I will punish you. You’re mine to enjoy as I like, and I intend to enjoy you very much, my Ariadne.” Her knees felt weak at the possessive. Damn and fuck him, he was better at this than anyone she’d played with before. He knew what he was doing, drawing out her desire with his voice and his actions; seeing the need in her and answering it. 

 

“Put your hands out in front of you,” Arthur ordered, tightening his tie between his fists again. “Palms together. I don’t want to hurt your wrists.” Ariadne complied, trying not to let her arms waver with the clumsy rush of desire she could feel. This was actually happening, and it was hotter than she’d dared to let herself imagine. 

 

“I’m going to bind you.” He held the length of fabric taut beneath her arms, drawing both ends up then wrapping it around her wrists firmly. It was a heavy weave, and she could feel the dense pattern, the cool slip of the fibres and the tension in the binding, running over her skin as if she had become super sensitised in just that small spot. He was taking great care not to touch her, even when he secured the knot. “Test it. Tell me if it’s OK. ” Ariadne pulled her hands apart experimentally, wriggling her fingers, feeling for any telltale discomfort or prickling of her nerves. The binding was firm, allowing her a little give, the knot between her hands impossible to dislodge unless she somehow became double jointed. 

 

“Yes.” She murmured, and he was on her in a flash, towering over her, catching her chin in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. 

 

“Yes what?” He almost snarled as he shook her chin, a single, sharp move.

 

“Yes, Arthur.” She corrected herself quickly.

 

“I will punish you for your lapse,” his eyes narrowed, and her heart started thudding in her chest, hard and rapid under her ribs. “Now,” He stood back, His tone was clipped and commanding, and it made her feel slippery and hot to her core. “Go into the bathroom. I want you to get into the shower and stand with your back the wall. Raise your arms above your head, and close your eyes. Do you understand? You can answer me.”

 

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and he tracked the movement with the smallest hint of a smile. “Yes, Arthur.” 

 

“Walk slowly. I enjoy looking at your pretty ass when you move.” He released her, standing aside to let her cross the room. The carpet under her feet felt rougher than it had before, her bare feet sinking into the pile with each step. The colour of the walls was richer, glowing, as if the minute this had begun the dial on her senses had started to turn up. She felt wired and desperate, but it was a pure, clean rush. Her body, herself, was letting her sink into the feeling bit by bit. She was in Arthur’s hands, she trusted him and she could let go, knowing he was there to hold her. 

 

The bathroom floor was cool, and so were the tiles of the shower wall when her back touched them. She hissed against the temperature on her skin as she raised her arms, but the smooth, hard surfaces were an anchor, warming under her as they braced her body. She pressed her thumb pads to the wall, willing her arms up and still as she could. With her eyes closed she was left to focus on her body: Her breathing coming in regular, smooth waves through her nose. Her hair falling down over her shoulders and back, soft and warm where it touched her skin. The tie around her wrists, holding her bound by his hand, displayed for his pleasure. The thought arced through her in a flare of silvery sensations. Her skin was trembling for touch, his touch, his hands or his mouth. Her nipples were two buds, hard and charged at the peaks of her breasts. Her clit was beating between her legs, desperate and demanding as she felt the wetness seeping down to onto the tops of her thighs. Suddenly the thoughts were tumbling through her head, each one louder than the last: Where was he? Why was he making her wait like this? She wanted to beg and plead, it had been hours, years even since she’d been here and she wanted so badly her body was on fire, stringing itself on the bladed edge of anticipation. Where was Arthur? Where was he? Had she repulsed him with her admissions? Was he punishing her? Was he not coming at all? But just as soon as it came, she felt the calmer part of her answer: You can trust him. You know you can. Wait. Breathe. He won't leave you like this. 

 

“You are so beautiful.” His voice from across the room made her start, then the knot of anxiety inside her dissolved. “I’ve been standing here, looking at you, waiting for me. Compliant.” His footsteps punctuated each word as he came closer. His voice sounded rough and low, stoking the anticipation inside her. “Naked. Willing. Submissive.” The sibilants trembled in the air, snaking over her skin. “For me. To me. You are, aren’t you? Answer me.”

 

“Yes, Arthur.” Her mouth felt dry. 

 

“I might photograph you like this one day. The arch of your back is such an incredible shape. Your body is so delicate, but so strong. The wonderful tension in you, holding your position like you were asked, displaying yourself like the glorious beauty you are, just for me.” He broke off in a low, appreciative hum. “Are you ready to find out what it feels like to have all my attention, all my focus, all of me directed on you? Answer me.” He prompted her, and she wanted to scream out for him. His voice was coiling heat deep in her belly, the image of him watching her burning in her head. The strain of holding her arms was a sharp counterpoint, another restraint, reminding her that he was holding her in his boundaries. He would make her wait until the right moment, the best moment. 

 

“Yes, Arthur.” Her voice was hoarse in her ears. She heard something soft hit the floor by her feet, and there was the scent of him, wrapping around her. Heat ghosted over her skin, an incomplete touch as if he was stroking the air over her breasts, down her belly and thighs, lingering then pausing over her pussy. 

 

“I still remember the first time I undressed you.” His voice was a whisper, stroking into the shell of her ear with tiny tickles of breath. “You were wearing lace, pretty, silk, deep red, hiding your lovely breasts and your sweet little pussy. Trying to entice me, trying to make yourself even more beautiful. Do you know what I thought?” He took the smallest pause, and she felt the brush of his hair against the underside of her bicep as he moved closer. “That you did not need them.” 

 

She wanted to moan out loud, but she pressed her lips together hard to stifle herself.  
Remembering his face, the feel of his hands; it made her want to be touched, and instead he was teasing her, tightening the screw. 

 

“All that time in Paris you were teasing me, tempting me to break my promises and neglect my duties. The shape of your body when you moved. The hint of your collarbones made my mouth water. The nape of your neck when you tied up your hair. I saw the bare skin of your arms and wondered if you were so smooth and pale all over. Your clever little hands and your quick tongue made me think filthy, terrible things when I was alone, stroking my cock, wanting like a thirst that made me weak and only you could slake it. Now you’re at my mercy, and I have no need to hold back.” A whimper struggled in her chest, making her want to twist and shift into contact with his body, to make the voice solid and real. 

 

“Open your legs wider,” he ordered, sharp again. “Ah,” he breathed, and she felt herself being opened with his thumbs. “So pink, so pretty, so wet.” The t was crisp and bitten off. “Your pussy is as pink as your nipples.” His thumbs released her and she wanted to howl, but before she could so much as draw breath his hands closed around her breasts, squeezing them hard, forcing her nipples against his palms in hard points. She heard herself make a desperate noise in her throat, the sensation whiting her out in a shock of pleasure as she pressed herself into his touch. His grip shifted, then her nipples were tight between his fingers and thumbs. The feeling was making her go liquid. Every part of her was snapped to focus on her breasts, the sweet, hard pressure making them throb and ache with arousal that filled her from top to toe.

 

“Your breasts are perfect.” He sounded breathless in her ear. His hands squeezed and relaxed as they cupped her, his fingers working around her nipples in a sharp counterpoint, and it was sublime. “You are ashamed of your breasts sometimes, aren’t you? You think they’re too small, too flat, that you're not womanly enough. Answer me.”

 

She remembered, and the old hurt was a cold plunge; her teenage self squeezing into padded uplift bras after the sharp words thrown at her body. Bee stings. Peas on an ironing board. Can’t tell the difference between her front and back. The terrible moments with other lovers, wondering what they saw, some even saying words that had cut her as surely as any knife. The fear that he might be the same. 

 

“Focus, Ariadne. Be here. Don’t think. Just speak.” He was close again, the shape of his lips in her ear. Arthur, his voice making the memories recede, ordering her to obey.

 

“Yes, Arthur.” She managed in a breathless rush. 

 

“That they weren’t enough to please me?”

 

“Yes, Arthur.” 

 

He growled, and his body surged forward to meet hers, his clothed erection meeting her stomach. 

 

“Do you feel how much they please me?” He grated out, forcing her back to the wall, covering her with himself.

 

“Yes,” she threw her head back as he pinched her nipples again, feeling him against her, warm and strong and everything she wanted right at this moment. “Yes, Arthur.” 

 

“Never be ashamed of yourself or your body again. You don’t need to change a single part of you. It is perfect. I think you’re perfect.” One hand caught her hair, pulling her head back in a wonderful sharp blossom of pain that filled her skull. “Say it, Ariadne.”

 

“My breasts are perfect.” She gasped, her tongue thick with pleasure. 

 

“Again.” He pulled her hair sharply. “What else?”

 

“My breasts are perfect. My body is perfect.” She could feel her wetness slicking right between her legs now, over her thighs, and deeper, into the cleft of her backside. 

 

“Again. Say my name. Tell me you know who's making you feel this.” He demanded, grinding into her. Her shoulders were burning from holding up her arms, her body tight and alive with sensations bursting over her, and it was glorious. 

 

“My breasts are perfect. My body is perfect. I am perfect. Arthur.” She felt his name become a moan on her lips. 

 

“Good girl,” Arthur crooned into her ear. “My perfect Ariadne. All mine.” His hand tightened on her breast again, an arrow of pleasure shooting to her clit as his fingers caught her nipple in a firm pinch. His other hand ran down her side, trailing over her stomach with cool fingers, dipping down to stroke the lacy hair before slipping over her exposed pussy. At his first touch her thighs trembled, desperately trying not to push her hips forward. 

 

He chuckled as she quivered. “So wet. Dripping wet. Because of me.” His thumb rolled over her clit, sliding around it, teasing it like an oliy marble, and there was nothing she could do to stop the sound that tore from her. Sparks of hot pleasure shot from her centre outwards, reaching her toes and her fingertips, her pelvis rolling up involuntarily as his hand pressed down, three fingers pushing hard inside her. Her breath caught and her body tightened, so full, so much what she wanted and yet not the part of him she craved. His fingers pumped in and out as he teased her, twisting and curling as he flicked her clit. 

 

“I want all of you, Ariadne,” his breath was hot against her face. “I want to fuck you. I want your mouth, I want your pussy, and I want your ass.” Oh god, that idea, so intimate and so filthy. She’d never been touched there, but the minute the image entered her head, Arthur behind her, Arthur’s— her body went hot and twisted against his fingers as the arousal rose in her— Arthur’s cock inside her ass, fucking her, taking her body in the most vulnerable way, she felt herself tighten from front to back, a dark thrilling sensation, and another slick of moisture running over his fingers. “You have a beautiful ass. I want it, I want to enjoy it. Like I enjoy your pussy.”

 

“Yes, Arthur. Yes, please.” She was moaning out, her skin hot and her body slick, falling head first into the sensation when without warning his hands fell from her, his body pulled back and she was left to slump into the shower wall, all but keening from the loss.

 

“Not yet. You disobeyed before, now you have to wait. This is your punishment today. You may not come until I have, and then not without permission. Do you understand? Answer me.”

 

“Yes, Arthur.” 

 

“I was going to spank you, but that's a pleasure I'd like to try another day. What do you say? Answer.”

 

“Thank you, Arthur.”

 

“Lower your hands to your chest and kneel.” He pressed down, and her knees folded obediently, meeting something softer than the hard white stone of the enclosure floor.

 

The shower going on next to her made her start, droplets of warm water spraying her skin and the creep of steam curling around her. The heat was delicious, warming her from a cold she’d barely acknowledged. The water falling was a lulling sound, pounding down in waves. 

 

“Open your eyes and look at me.” She tilted her chin up and blinked, the light too bright for a moment. Arthur towered over her, naked. His cock was hard, rosy pink against the dark hair at his groin, and the sight made her mouth start to water. She could smell the salt and musk of him, and it just made her desire stronger. His hands cradled her cheeks for a moment, thumbs stroking her cheekbones as he gazed down at her. 

 

“I will take my pleasure from you first. Take my cock in your mouth. Suck it.”

 

Ariadne wet her lips, and lifting her bound hands grasped him firmly at the base, guiding him between her lips. Experience had taught her he liked her to begin with her tongue running around the head of his cock, spiralling back to tease the spot underneath and tracing to the tip again. But he’d said explicitly to take him in her mouth, so she sank down, taking as much as she could and removing her hands. Hollowing her cheeks she began a slow, pulling suck, curling her tongue underneath him to feel his length. He was hard and smooth inside her, and she hummed with the pleasure of the act. Arthur kept his eyes on her, his hips pushing towards her a little as she worked. 

 

“That’s it. You’re so good, Ariadne.” He rested one hand on her hair, his fingers working into the mass. “Now, make me come with your mouth.” 

 

She groaned around him at that and he made a feral sound from his throat. She let her hands rise again, this time using her right to cup and massage his balls, relishing the silky skin under the wiry hair. With her left she folded her thumb into her palm and made a fist. If he could surprise her, it was time for some surprises of her own she decided. She made eye contact with him, making hers go wide and let him deeper into her mouth. She felt him press into her soft palate, and his eyes went wide this time, the hand in her hair clutching tight in a delicious shock as he inhaled, then he was past the point and into her throat, feeling the constriction around him. Ariadne willed herself to relax, squeezing her thumb hard as she closed her lips as tight as she could. Arthur’s eyes were wild, and suddenly both hands were in her hair, fisting it tight as he moaned.

 

“Oh fuck, Ariadne. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, I—” He garbled the words out into her upturned face, his hips restless and his body starting to twist. “That’s it, oh more.” 

 

Ariadne let him go back, her tongue drawing spirals and kisses down his cock, fingernails scratching his balls, took a deep, slow breath and swallowed him again, letting him pull her towards him this time. The effect was electric. Arthur’s head went back, his body going taut as a bow string. His hands pulled her head down, and she let him, because this was intoxicating. He was in her power for this moment, even as he held her in his, and it was so intimate and erotic and stupidly, brain numbingly hot. 

 

“Gonna come, Ariadne.” He panted, “I’m gonna come. In your mouth. Swallow.” The last order was choked out, right before he gave a raw, desperate shout that bounced off the walls as he throbbed in her mouth, pulsing down her throat as she flexed her palate around him, never letting go of her thumb. “Fucking hell,” he drawled with a huge, shit eating grin as she let him slide back into her mouth, releasing her thumb and swallowing properly. “Oh, that was a punishment really well taken. You are my prize, aren’t you, _prinkípissá mou_? I’ve taken you away to live with me in sin, and now I find you’re perfectly suited for it.” He let go of her hair, slipping his finger through the damp strands. “Let me out of your mouth and stand up, arms up and eyes closed.”

 

Ariadne stood, getting herself back into position and waiting. “I think one good turn deserves another, don’t you?” Arthur voice sent warm breath across her skin. “Would you like a reward now? Answer me.”

 

“I am happy just to serve you, Arthur.” She replied honestly and he chuckled. 

 

“Pleasant though that is to hear, it isn’t what I asked. Answer me, Ariadne. Do you want a reward for serving me so well and,” he paused, as if weighing his words, “surprisingly?” Her body was starting to heat again, the hum of energy she’d felt before returning. 

 

“Please, yes, Arthur.” 

 

“I am very happy to hear that, because really, this treat is also mine.” 

 

He stopped talking and moved back from her body. For a moment she felt and heard nothing, then she felt his touch, his hands stroking around her ankles, tracing the bones with his fingertips before meandering up her calves. “You have the most perfect legs,” he murmured, letting his hands roam upwards, running up her thighs, curling under to cup her butt. “And the best ass I have ever seen.” 

 

For a second panic bit into her, her mind spooling out that she wasn't ready, not for him to do that. Her safe word was on the tip of her tongue, but he was lifting her up, sliding her back against the wall, bringing one thigh up, stretching her out, taking her to her tiptoes then she felt the shape of his shoulder underneath her leg, holding her up and open. He grasped her other leg, then she was off the floor, his hands supporting her ass, her body slanting down to where she could feel his breath on her mons, only her upper back, head and arms in contact with the wall. He was under her, his skin hot and damp, the muscles of his back hard under her calves. She felt tiny and light like this, her body completely held by his, open to his desire. 

 

“Ariadne, look at me.” She felt the words vibrate into her, her clit pulsing with them. She almost didn't want to, almost afraid of the wanton shape she was in. “Ariadne, do as I say.” He warned, snapping her attention back to him.

 

She made herself tilt her head down, peeling her eyes open. Arthur was watching her, the dark in his eyes burning as he looked back. With a slow, deliberate motion he drew her hips to him, licking his lips. Her stomach tightened as he dipped his mouth, and with a slow, agonising pace, drew the flat of his tongue over her from top to bottom, curling the tip around her opening then dragging it up to flick her clit. He didn't look away as he repeated the motion once, twice, three times, watching her body as she arched, chasing the ache that he kept teasing up then letting fall. Her body wanted, and it felt like she’d been on the edge of release for hours. There was just enough friction from his tongue to hold her there, taunting her with his control, making her hyper aware of the feel of his face between her thighs, the scratch of his stubble and the heat of his breath, the slow, savouring tastes of her he was taking. She could feel her breath heaving in her chest, her heart and her pussy beating in time, the involuntary twist in her hips she had to try and quell, and the white noise of the shower pounding over her, hot waves down her spine.

 

He drew back, his lips slick and his hair curling from the steam of the shower. “I wish you could see yourself, Ariadne. Open wide and panting for me. Juicy as a peach in my mouth. Utterly at my mercy. Do you want more?” He smiled up at her, sharp and sly.

 

“Please, Arthur.” She wanted to grab his head and force him down. She wanted to feel him drawing the wicked spirals with his tongue on her clit that she loved. She wanted his mouth to fuck her.

 

“Please what? I like specifics. Be specific.”

 

“Please lick my pussy, Arthur.” 

 

His mouth was on her before she could ask again, not slow this time but hungry, devouring her. His tongue was hard, lashing her clit over and over before delving inside her, swirling around as she tried to clench around him. He was moaning into her, the wet sound of him working her, pushing her higher. The feeling poured over her, everything else fading out but the sensation where they were joined, his eyes on hers, his hands cradling and spreading her open. Everything was swirling and jumbling together now, time spreading and thickening around her like amber. She felt his tongue slide deeper down, into where her body divided and she groaned, opening herself wider. His hands tightened, fingers stroking her skin, pressing inwards, then they were brushing against her asshole, teasing the puckered ring of muscle in circles like the ones her was drawing around her clit. 

 

“Make noise, Ariadne. I like hearing you.” He commanded before dipping back between her legs. 

 

Her gasp was involuntary more than obedient, her body tensing for a fleeting second as one fingertip eased against her, wriggling a little. She was tingling where he touched, a sudden want to take what he offered pulling against the shock of shame trying to take over. He was playing with her ass, and it felt so good she didn't want him to stop. Some of her was chanting that it was dirty, it was wrong, but it was so unbearably hot for all that. He was pushing her, finding new ways to let her feel his desire, and that thought let her surrender, relaxing against his touch.

 

“Arthur,” she moaned his name as his finger slid inside, the pressure strange and delicious as he started to work slowly in and out, swirling her clit over his tongue as he went in, sucking it between his lips as he slipped out. Another two fingers teased at her, tracing the frill of her asshole as he penetrated her. She pushed back a little, feeling him flex inside her and her toes curled. Arthur lifted his head, watching her with a positively feral look as he slipped out a little and she pushed down again.

 

“How does that feel?”

 

“It's good. It felt strange at the beginning. Dirty,” she felt her skin colour at the admission. Arthur almost smirked as he let his finger slip inside a little more and she wriggled. “But now it's good. I like you inside me, Arthur.” 

 

“Good. Because I think you can take another finger, Ariadne. Shall I do that? Shall I put another finger in your asshole?” He dawdled a circle around her clit with his tongue.

 

“I-” the feeling was incredible, pleasure above, fullness below. “Please.” She managed stupidly.

 

“Please what?” He raised his eyebrows at her. “Please who?”

 

“Please put another finger in my asshole, Arthur.” She garbled out. 

 

“Oh Ariadne, so good. Maybe I’ll let you come like this.” He traced the sensitive skin again, another fingertip teasing against the muscle, wriggling and stroking. “My tongue on your clitoris. My fingers knuckle deep inside your ass. You begging for more like the absolutely shameless girl you are.” The words shot through her, heaving and hot as she moaned again, snarls of desire knotting up in her belly. Arthur took advantage of the moment, she felt him push, and there was the sudden hot stretch of her body taking another finger inside. He wriggled them softly, easing back and in by small fractions, watching her as she moaned again.

 

“Oh god, you have no idea how good you feel, how good you look or taste. Do you want to come, Ariadne? His tongue went back to her clit before she could answer, harder than before as his fingers began to pump in and out of her ass. Her brain was scrambling, a storm of sensations inside and out was robbing her of speech. The edge of her orgasm was coming, she could feel it. Her body was seesawing between the two points of pleasure, pushing and pulling at his mouth and his hand, feeling every stroke of his tongue, every joint of his fingers, superheated and falling apart, and when he pulled back she wanted to howl. 

 

“I said, do you want to come, Ariadne?” He lapped her a few times. “It tastes like you do. It feels like you do. But you can’t, not until you have my permission, can you?”

 

“No,” she stammered. “Arthur. Please. I want to.” 

 

“Want to what?”

 

“I want to come, Arthur.” She moaned desperately as he dipped down again, his lips closing around her, teasing her clit up and further out of it’s hood before he began to lick it in rapid flutters, hard, steady flicks back and forth, breaking off to lick around her lips then back, fluttering again. She was bucking into his face now, a steady stream of panting little ah’s all the sound she could make. So close, she felt herself urging it on, the room falling away, nothing but this, this, this burning whiteness pulling her tighter and tighter even as she tried to hold it back. Her body stretching towards it, craving the release and wanting nothing but to have it break over her, right at the perfect moment. Right when she deserved it, and he permitted it. Holding off was the sweetest torture she could imagine, but she endured it, suspending herself in the space where there was nothing to do but feel his mouth and hands ratcheting her tighter. 

 

“Oh my good, beautiful Ariadne.” He caressed her with his voice between short licks of his tongue. “My perfect girl. You’ve done so well. One last thing.”

 

“I— I— Yes,” She stuttered, strung out too tight for anything more. “Ar. Thur.” 

 

“Come for me.” He ordered, and she let go, the bonds holding everything in, flying from her control. His mouth covered her again, his tongue delving inside her pussy as his nose pressed into her clit, and that touch was enough. Her body wound tight, clenching around him everywhere he was inside her and her orgasm broke in a silvery cascade, shaking and pulsing until she threw her head back, her spine curled and she screamed, weeping his name in relief as she let go. 

 

~*~

 

Arthur’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest. She’d cried out again when he left her body, and gently set her on her feet but now he was back, whispering into her hair. “You’re OK, you’re OK,” over and over, rocking her gently against him. “I need to take care of you, OK?” 

 

The note of the shower changed, and warm water spilled over them, washing away the sweat on their bodies and soothing the dull ache in her shoulders and back. Ariadne let it lap over her, her body going lax and soft. She felt incredible, warm and relieved, peaceful and safe. She tilted her face up, and found Arthur looking down at her. 

 

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He said softly.

 

“I cried because it was good,” she snaked one arm around his waist. “You were amazing. Where the hell did you learn to do that?” 

 

“Why do you ask?” He pressed a small kiss on her lips. 

 

“Because earlier you were sort of suggesting you didn’t really know anything about it. Then you went and,” she shook her head, “blew my mind.” 

 

“Ah, well.” Arthur switched the water off and helped her out of the shower, wrapping them both in a towel big enough to be a bed sheet when she stayed close to his chest. “I may have downplayed my knowledge a little. Have you heard of Google?” 

 

“Seriously?” Ariadne started to laugh. “You Googled it? When?” 

 

He grinned back at her, rubbing her shoulders with the towel. “I may have been exaggerating about Google, and certainly there were things I knew were pointless finding out about without knowing your tastes. But I certainly took the opportunity to do some research while you resting. It’s not as if I haven’t tried things before, but I’ve never gone to this level. When you mentioned it, I did some reading, and,” he paused, drawing her close again. “It appealed to me. Thinking of you and me, playing. Having your absolute trust and giving you mine. Knowing I love you and you love me.” He finished in a low voice. 

 

“I do,” she took his face in both her hands and brought him down for a kiss, pouring herself out into it, all the gratitude and trust she felt behind it. 

 

“I have to finish your aftercare.” His voice was low and rough again. 

 

“This is part of my aftercare. I like feeling close to you.” She snuggled into him, making happy little humming sounds. “My great, strong brute.” She felt Arthur’s laugh under her. 

 

“Really? OK then, let me be strong and brutish then.” He swept her up in his arms, making her yelp in surprise, and carried her back into the suite and over to the bed, laying her down on it. “Your feet never even touched the floor.” He kissed her again and she purred happily, burrowing into the quilt. “Now, let me take care of you.” 

 

He grabbed two bottles of water from the mini bar, cracked them open and put one in her hands with a small tablet. “Painkiller,” he said pointedly. “In case your arms are aching or stiff, or you feel sore anywhere else. Finish all the water.” He waited patiently as she drank it to the bottom, then gulped down his own with long swallows. 

 

“Move over a little,” he instructed, taking her bottle away and setting it aside so she could get comfortable, then he climbed into bed with her, fitting her back to his front, putting his arm around her and letting her nestle into him. “Are you OK?” His fingers stroked her forearm. 

 

“Yeah,” she closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of him around her. Her Arthur, loving her. “I like this. I like all of it. Thank you.” 

 

She felt his lips brush the tip of her ear. “Rest now,” He said. “I’ll be here. I’ll keep you safe.” 

 

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

 

Eames knocked on the door of their suite the next morning, and when Arthur opened the door he shot them both his sharp grin. “Good morning, sweethearts and darlings all. Big news. I heard from Alodia.”

 

He sauntered to the breakfast table, winking at Ariadne as he sat down and filched a croissant. “You’re looking especially radiant today, sweetheart. Dinner last night must have agreed with you.” He widened his eyes innocently, but Ariadne just smiled back. She didn’t really care if he was fishing or had really heard something. Let him think what he liked, she decided.

 

“Yes, it really did.” She saw Arthur smile behind his coffee cup. “So, what did you hear?”

 

Eames slurped his coffee and smacked his lips. “We’ve been invited to tea in exactly ten days time. Here.” He tossed his cellphone to Arthur, who read the message without so much as a flicker.

 

“They’re saying they can offer us information, but not what they want in return.” He handed Eames’ phone back. “Sounds like Yikeria, not Gideon.”

 

“Who’s Yikeria? You said there were three of them, right?” Ariadne fumbled through her foggy memory. “An extractor, an architect and a thief.”

 

“Right,” Arthur got up and rummaged in the bookcase, pulling out three slim folders and setting them in front of her. “Yikeria is their thief.” Ariadne opened the top file, and inside was a portrait shot of an elegant, delicate boned African American woman in dress uniform, smiling slightly at the camera.

 

“She was military?”

 

“From the original somnacin program.” Arthur settled next to Ariadne, flipping up a page from her records. “I knew her professionally.” He admitted dryly. “She was a good tactician and a reasonable leader, but the restrictions on women in combat meant she never felt she was going to reach the top ranks. She left shortly after I did, became a soldier of fortune for few years, then reemerged with Inès in tow in around 2005.”

 

“She’s a hard ass,” Eames said around a mouthful of croissant, pointing at Arthur as he grabbed his coffee. “When she gets going she makes you look like Big Bird off his tits on E, plus she’s got a vicious streak a mile wide.”

 

Arthur sighed, closing Yikeria’s file and opening the next. Ariadne sipped her coffee and leant over the picture. “This is Inès, their architect.” The blonde in the picture had a perfect oval face, her high cheekbones and wide, dark blue eyes adding to her prettiness. Her skin was fine, milky pale and almost transparent, like porcelain in the sunshine. “She’s a French native, graduated Cornell maga laude and got her masters in Switzerland. She practised briefly, and sometimes still does legitimate work.” Arthur flicked over some photographs, images of farmhouses, a small office space and converted warehouse. Ariadne spread them out, looking over with a critical eye.

 

“She’s not bad,” she admitted. “Her taste is a little more classical than most. But not bad.”

 

“Inès is really the one who we know least about.” Arthur glanced at Eames pointedly. “Or at least, I don’t.”

 

“It was a fling. Two nights, maybe more. A quick in and out. That was the job, by the way, not the sex.” Eames smirked at Ariadne when she rolled her eyes. “The sex was considerably more interesting.”

 

“Professionalism, Eames.” Arthur shot back briskly.

 

“Fine. She’s quiet, but she’s got skills. Leaves most of the heavy lifting to Yikeria and Gideon, and they protect her like lions. Honestly, she unnerved me a little bit at times.”

 

Ariadne plucked the last folder up. “So this is their extractor. Gideon Winterson,” she read, lifting her eyebrows. “That’s a mouthful.” The picture inside showed a tall Asian man in front of red velvet drapes, dressed in a dinner suit and holding a glass of champagne. He was handsome, with heavy eyebrows, a finely shaped mouth and the most shocking blue eyes she’d seen since Robert Fischer’s. “What’s his story?” She looked up at Arthur.

 

“He’s Hong Kong Chinese, educated in the UK, went back to Hong Kong to work as researcher into the man machine interface. A sort of tech shrink, although more tech, less people. He got involved in mind crime through what was a study into how sensations are created in lucid states and could be heightened. He sold his findings to a network of brothel owners and people traffickers for a great deal of money, having basically learned how to help them use the PASIV to create a sideline in incredibly potent sexual dreams.”

 

“That’s a possibility?” Ariadne looked from him to Eames, who shrugged.

 

“The PASIV and somnacin have any number of applications. In Gideon’s case, he helped create a form of dreaming that meant the client could do whatever they liked and not harm the person they were doing it to. Less wear and tear, to put it crudely. Of course, the women they use are all hopeless somnacin addicts by the end, mad as hatters, hearts exploding. Of course that’s only if they wake up.”

 

“That’s...,” Ariadne slapped the file shut, and took a gulp of coffee to try and calm her gut.

 

“It is,” Eames agreed. “But if it hadn’t been him, it would have been someone else.”

 

“He’s an extractor though?”

 

“He is now.” Arthur touched her knee under the table, soothing the skin briefly. “He learned a lot from the study about what the PASIV can do to the mind of the subject. Once he realised that, and how he could benefit from it, he changed careers. He met Inès at a conference, a trade summit of some kind when he was still working a researcher and she was a legitimate architect. Apparently when the time came, he gave her a call.”

 

“So,” Ariadne spread the files out. “You said they weren’t as good as you and Cobb.”

 

“No.” Arthur’s dry little smile was almost a smirk. “Not nearly. They work, but they’ve never been the best.”

 

“Could this all just boil down to jealousy?”

 

Arthur shook his head. “Not entirely. Yikeria is ambitious, but Gideon likes the money. If they think they can somehow pry something out of us, they want the thing that’s going to make them the most.”

 

“Which would be inception, right? But I thought the idea was relatively common knowledge?” Ariadne frowned.

 

“The idea, yes. The technique, no. If they think we’ve got a foolproof method then they’re probably trying for that, as well as trying to fleece Browning into the bargain.” Eames replied. “We don’t, of course, and anyway, Gideon is too clever by half to be subtle enough to do it. Cobb was a mess, but he had a delicate touch when required. Gideon would over egg the pudding and turn into a Freudian nightmare written by Sophocles after a heavy night on the funny mushrooms.” He waggled his eyebrows at Ariadne until she cracked a smile.

 

“So what are we going to do?” She asked.

 

“We’re going to go to tea, of course.” Arthur wove his fingers into hers and his smirk became full blown. “And since it’s a formal occassion, I think you should get something smart to wear.”

 

~*~

 

The tea room turned out to be in hotel, a long, cooly elegant room with one wall completely made of glass. The harbour swept past in a rippling panorama of deep blue water, rough green grass and ships meandering elegantly by. Ariadne wished she had time to pause over it, but since they were being escorted across the room at a brisk walk by a the maitre d’ there was barely time for her to take it in.

 

Her new suit was still crisp against her skin, the neat, close lines of the deep, chestnut brown jacket and skirt skimming her body as she moved, her silk shirt open just one button at the collar. It was perfectly plain, but from the moment she’d put it on it had felt perfect, like a suit of armour. Ariadne the architect could dress like this, she decided as she looked at herself in the dressing room mirror, turning from side to side. She looked poised, unbreakable and certain of her abilities. She hadn’t hesitated to buy it, or the sharp heels the charming shop assistant had gently suggested.

 

When she strode out of the bedroom to meet Arthur and Eames wearing it, it was equally gratifying to see the looks on their faces. Arthur in particular had given her a dark, secret smile.

 

“Perfect,” he’d said, taking her in from the French pleat she’d put her hair into right down to the tips of her shoes.

 

“Very nice.” Eames had nodded to her.

 

“Not too bad yourself.” She grinned back. Eames had dressed in a deep blue suit, including a waistcoat, and a plain white shirt.

 

“I like to make an effort when called for. It might look like overcompensating otherwise.” He said pointedly in Arthur’s direction.

 

“Shut up.” Arthur replied mildly.

 

“You look perfect. As always.” Ariadne admired his crisp grey jacket and trousers, the darker waistcoat peeking out above his white shirt and woven red and gold tie.

 

“Ah, young love.” Eames snarked, holding open the door, earning himself a swot on the arm as Ariadne walked past him.

 

Now they were flanking her as they crossed the room, Arthur with one hand resting at the base of her spine. The maitre d’ glided ahead of them, all the way down to the far end, where a table with six chairs was set with tea things. Two of the chairs were occupied, the blonde and the brunette sitting with their backs to the room, apparently for all the world just enjoying the view.

 

The maitre d’ inclined his head as they drew up to the table and indicated the three empty seats opposite the women. Eames took the furthest, and Arthur drew out the centre chair for Ariadne, seating himself on her other side. Between them stood a laden table: A tower of delicate, exquiste cakes laid out like jewels sat in the centre of the crisp white cloth, each one beckoning their tempting tastes with shiny glazed berries, glowing chocolate or beautiful feathered frosting. A smaller stand of finger sandwiches cut in perfect, slim rectangles of white and brown bread set out in perfect sunburst patterns, their fillings in neat, bright stripes through their centres. A fine silver coffee pot and a smaller, plumper tea pot set on a small burner steamed merrily amid their smart entourage of teaspoons, milk jugs and sugar basin. The procelian cups, plates and saucers glowed richly in the bright sunshine streaming in through the windows, a perfect still life orchestrated to whisper try me, taste me, indulge in me. But to Ariadne there was an overripeness it, a hint of rot beneath the shine, a sick sour note in the colour of the pretty treats and elegant setting.

  
“Some drinks for you?” The maitre d’ asked.

  
“Some more tea and coffee.” Yikeria answered before anyone could open their mouths. “We’ll also need some more of your lovely cakes and sandwiches. Thank you.” She added pointedly, and the maitre d’ bustled away. In person Yikeria was slender and elegant, her air of authority as crisp as the tablecloth beneath her warm manner. Her rich purple jacket and fine black blouse were precisely cut to subtly excentuate her curves rather than hide them, the colour perfect against her rich colouring. Her hair was relaxed to a sleek shine, it's length caught in a soft knot; while the berry coloured stain on her lips and warm gold lining her eyes spoke of a woman who wasn't afraid to enjoy the art and play of make up. There was an amused quirk to her mouth as she looked at them, but her eyes betrayed with a sharp glint behind the beautiful, polished friendliness.

 

“Yikeria.” Arthur greeted her with the briefest nod. “Inès.” The blonde tilted her head in response, her deep, dark eyes barely meeting them across the table. She was dressed in a spring green blouse of some soft, fine fabric that draped rather than stood crisply, the colour making her complexion delicate rather than deathly pale. Her nearly white blonde hair was in a loose, low ponytail that let strands of hair fall to frame her face and glimmer in the light, and four or five mismatched gold rings graced her fingers, weighing her long, thin hands as she took up her cup. Her face was bare, save that she wore a smear of rosy pink lipstick slashed over her lips and a coat of mascara darkened her lashes.

 

“You’re looking well, Arthur.” Yikeria sipped her tea delicately. “How long has it been? Ten years?”

 

“Seven,” Arthur replied.

 

“ _Tempus fugit_ , indeed.” She gave a mock rueful face, sounding for all the world as if they were merely catching up over tea and petit fours. “I remember the day you left, you know. I can recall you saying very clearly that you were going to be a free agent from that point on. Yet here I find you, with your...,” Her eyes ran over each of them in turn, studying them, her words hanging in the air. She lingered on Ariadne as if she was measuring her up, flickering over her slight, small frame, her clothes, even noting her posture. It was the look of an opponent evaluating her next move, and Ariadne felt her fists knot in her lap, the anger in her gut heating up. Yikeria broke off abruptly, but the warm smile gracing her perfectly sculpted face seemed far too practiced to be real. “Friends.” She concluded.

 

Arthur sidestepped the barb hidden in her words. ”Is Winterson joining us?”

 

“Gideon will be here soon. But where are my manners? Would you like some coffee while we wait? Or perhaps William would prefer tea?” Her eyes settled on Eames. “You do look _very_ smart today, Will. Did Arthur dress you himself this morning?” Her smile sharpened, a hint of teeth showing.

 

“Oh, Yiké,” Eames rolled the familiar off his tongue, sounding pitying and amused. “I’m sure that dear Inès could tell you that I’m quite capable of dressing myself. But then, maybe she hasn’t shared all the details of what we got up to in Khartoum?” Yikeria’s back snapped straight and the smile fell off her face, a flash of rage in her eyes. Next to her Inès flushed a pure shade of red and fumbled with her cup. Eames’ smirk quirked the corners of his lips as he carried on sweetly. “And I would love some tea, thank you for offering.”

 

“I know Arthur is a coffee drinker, but what about you? Ariadne, isn’t it?” Yikeria pulled her friendly social veneer back into place as she pinned Ariadne with her measuring look again.

 

“I’m sure you know from Mitchell that I prefer coffee.” Ariadne replied. She wasn’t going to give this woman an inch. “How is Mitchell by the way?” She tried to sharpen her smile in imitation of Yikeria, but she merely shook her head.

 

“Do you know, I have no idea. I think he was in Poland, last we spoke to him?” She turned to Inès, who shrugged. “Poor man, always getting in over his head.” She narrowed her eyes at Arthur, who didn’t flinch.

 

A waiter bustled over, a tray laden with a silver coffee pot, extra cups, plates and cutlery in his hand. With a whisk of white linen he set out fresh pastries, sandwiches and set a new pot down on the tealight burner in the centre of the table. Everyone sat in silence as he worked. A Mexican standoff over _fika_ , Ariadne thought as she looked steadily back at Inès, her deep violet eyes knowing behind her silence. Tea, cake and threats on the side. Her tongue felt like lead, her stomach acid and her lips a sharpened blade.

 

“Madame,” the waiter murmured and nodded to Yikeria, who made an impatient flicking gesture with her hand. He neatly poured their drinks, bowed slightly and whisked away the old china with barely a sound.

 

“Eames,” Arthur prompted, not moving his eyes from the women on the other side of the table.

 

“Forgive us if we’re not quite in a trusting mood today, Yiké.” From his jacket pocket Eames took a small packet, peeled it open and produced three small paper strips. Yikeria shook her head sadly when she saw it.

 

“Oh Will, do you think we’re that crude?”

 

“I think that I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.” Eames shot back, fastidiously dipping the strip in his tea. He calmly passed a pair to Ariadne, who passed one to Arthur in turn. Ariadne dunked her strip into her drink so the small raised white squares at the end were covered, just as Eames had explained she should. “Better safe than sorry.” He’d said cheerfully.

 

She watched him from the corner of her eye, counting to five after he’d removed his before lifting hers out. The strip was dark, stained with coffee, but as she watched the squares went pale, one reacting a soft pink and another deep yellow. She glanced at Arthur, who nodded.

 

“Caffeine and flavanols, am I right?” Yikeria had steepled her long fingers in front of her, watching them with faint amusement. “This isn’t a Sherlock Holmes movie. We came in good faith.”

 

“Yet you abducted me in the attempt to find out what I knew.” Ariadne snapped, screwing the test strip up in her fist. “Good faith would have been asking for my help, not trying to steal it from my head.”

 

“She’s pretty and she’s got fire.” Yikeria grinned broadly at Arthur. “I see why you chose her.”

 

“I am a fully qualified architect, and nobody _chose_ me.” The rage bubbled in Ariadne’s throat as she tried to stay icily professional. She felt her spine pull up straight, her shoulders tighten back and her chin lift, her body wrenching out every bit of her physical presence. “I decide who I work with and why. You will kindly speak to me when I’m present, not about me as if I am not.” She stared straight back at Yikeria as she spoke, refusing to let herself flinch. She knew she was probing for weaknesses, trying to see where the lines of their relationships lay, where she could creep in and unsettle them. Eames had obviously slid a knife into her via Inès, and now she was trying to even the score.

 

Yikeria’s mouth opened, her eyes stony but before she could answer a man’s voice interrupted cheerfully.

 

“It is so cold outside today. Ah, Yikeria, you ordered tea? Wonderful, I’m starved.”

 

Yikeria’s head jerked round, her smile suddenly blooming over her face in warm and genuine lines. Gideon Winterson was settling himself in the empty chair, sprawling out as he sat. Silver cufflinks peeked from the end of his sleeves, winking in the light as he dropped a folded newspaper in front of him and feigned a sigh. “Could you pour me a cup, Inès?” He smiled at her, stroking her hand fleetingly. His accent had soft American intonations in it, curling the words from his lips.

 

“Well then,” he propped his chin in his hand, quirking his eyebrows as he glanced at them. “What’s the game today? Lethal chess? Or rock, paper, gun? It’s good to see you, Arthur, William.” He nodded to each of them in turn, but paused briefly on Ariadne, his smile softening at her hard expression. “You must be Ariadne. Pardon me, I am Gideon Winterson.” He held out his hand for her to shake, his face not wavering even when she reluctantly took it. “I understand you may have got the wrong impression of us. But it was never our intention to harm you.”

 

“I was drugged, kidnapped, taken across Europe to a house in the middle of nowhere, handcuffed to radiator with my feet shackled and threatened by your hired muscle. I think all of that gave me a really clear impression of you.” Ariadne shot back. “Why did you do it?”

 

Winterson took his tea from Inès, murmuring his thanks before he answered. “With hindsight we acted...impulsively. Mitchell was a mistake.” He admitted as Yikeria glared at him. “He was. We, well, this is the deal. We maybe felt that with Cobb retired that perhaps you Will and you Arthur, might be looking for work. Especially you, Arthur.” Winterson sat back, tilting his head on one side as he looked at him across the table. “You know how it is. Cobb made us all look like rank amateurs even when he was at his worst. But a lot of his success was down to you. We thought that you might consider joining us. Forming a team. Staying in the big leagues. So we were a little hurt when we heard you’d linked up with someone new before we’d even had the chance to talk.” He lingered on Ariadne again, a rueful smile on his face.

 

“I don’t believe you’ve ever been hurt in your life, Winterson.” Arthur replied blandly. “And I don’t think I would’ve liked playing second fiddle to you, Yikeria. Especially after serving with you.” Her mouth compressed into a thin line, but she stayed silent. “As for my career, I'm still playing top flight, so your concern is unnecessary. Now, are you going to answer Ariadne’s question?”

 

Winterson’s lips bunched up as put down his teacup, fussing with it on the saucer.

 

“What did Browning ask you for?” Eames asked tiredly. “Or we going to sit here exchanging chit chat over coffee and cake until the cows come home?”

 

“What does anyone who comes to us want?” Winterson shrugged, helping himself to a pastry, unravelling the spiral with neat fingers. “And anyone can give any name, you know.”

 

“Last chance,” Arthur tapped his index finger slowly on the table. “You paid Mitchell to take Ariadne. He told us that it was Browning. I know he made an approach to you. Now tell us why.” The note of threat in his voice was cold and direct.

 

The seconds ticked by. Winterson flicked a look at Yikeria, whose jaw had set tight. Her lips twitched, words obviously being restrained on her tongue as she made the smallest shake of her head. Inès touched her arm, her small hand soothing her, as she looked back to Winterson. He made a short chopping motion with his hand, and Inès frowned back.

 

“This is dull and pointless. We were promised information. You're just wasting our time.” Arthur tossed his napkin on the table and made to stand, Ariadne hurrying to be a beat behind him.

 

“Wait, please.” Inès’ voice was calm, clear and rich with her accent. Ariadne felt herself startle at it, sure that her silence was complete either from shyness or choice. “It was Peter Browning. He’s afraid.” Inès had her hands folded in her lap as she spoke, her gaze shifting across the three of them. “Robert came home from his father’s funeral, and suddenly he wants to change their business, become a philanthropist, give up the things he’s worked so hard to assume. Browning doesn't want to lose what he's worked so hard to get.”

 

“Well, grief is strange.” Eames commented. “A death can make us reconsider our lives.”

 

Yikeria smirked. “It’s not a secret that you got to him. So quit trying to play innocent.”

 

“On the contrary, I rather think you're making an assumption here. After all, you took Ariadne to find out what she knew, which suggests you're rather more clueless than you look. I was merely suggesting that you and Browning might be jumping the gun. In Browning’s case because he’s wetting his pants over losing his position, and in your case to get paid.” Eames replied mildly. “His nephew lost his father. It’s no secret they were at daggers drawn for long time, and that Browning profited from that. If Maurice dying helped Robert see that he could forge his own path, make something of his own rather than become a pale imitation; indeed come to terms with what his father meant to him, then perhaps you're not looking for the crime of the century but rather at a man who has had an epiphany?”

 

Inès laughed, a chiming, musical, indulgent sound. “Peter Browning knows his nephew, and he knows that something happened to him in Los Angeles. He wanted us to see if we could find out what.” Inès smiled sweetly at Ariadne, who found herself unconsciously drawing away. “And I admit, I was intrigued to meet you. I know you trained under Stephen Miles, and worked with Dominick. I saw your graduate portfolio in Paris, and I heard about the work you’ve done since. I would love to dream with you, to see what you’ve learned. To see what we could build together.” In spite of herself Ariadne felt a chill run down her back. Inès’ eyes face was gentle but her eyes were agates. Her calm was just as much as weapon as Yikeria’s barbs and Winterson’s geniality; lulling, smooth, but still seeking a handhold in any chink she could find.

 

“No,” Ariadne bit the word off. “I think you would take what you wanted, and leave me gutted out. I think that’s why you wanted me. You thought you saw a weak link, and you tried to exploit it. You were wrong,” Ariadne leant forward, keeping her voice low and her words deliberate. “I know what this job is, and if you think I'm innocent or soft because I haven't been in the game as long as you then you're mistaken. I’m no more going to give you what you want any more than my colleagues are. If you want it, you’ll pay for it. And if you take it, then you'll pay for that too.” Ariadne felt the sharp smile on her face, and saw it reflected in Inès’ eyes as she blinked. Your move, she thought defiantly.

 

“We've already made our own approach to Browning.” Arthur added as Ariadne leant back in her seat, trying not to startle at his bluff. “We can research and provide our theories on Robert to him, since apparently so far you've come up with very little.”

 

“Look,” Winterson leant forward, his voice a harsh whisper. “We know what you did. If you just tell us how we can make it worth your while.”

 

“No, you think you know and that’s entirely different.” Arthur shot back.

 

“Please,” Winterson shook off Inès’ hand on his shoulder. “We screwed up with the Kremlin. We need something to get them off our backs. Everyone shares knowledge in the community. This isn’t any different.”

 

“It is.” Arthur’s face was the cold mask of the point man, and his words were venomous. “You abducted my architect on a rumour to try and save your asses. That isn’t sharing. That’s not the code of dream workers or whatever bullshit you want to dress it up as. You know that I could cut you off from this business more easily than breathing, then hang you out for the Kremlin and whoever else you’ve pissed off to tear apart.”

 

“You wouldn’t.” Yikeria sneered.

 

“Oh yes, I would.” Arthur replied flatly. “I meant what I said to Mitchell. You come after us again, especially Ariadne, I will burn you down and there will be nothing left when I am done. Now, you owe her an apology.”

 

The silence that followed crackled with tension, sending a sickly twitch of adrenaline through Ariadne’s blood. Nobody moved or spoke for a long, terrible moment, even the noise from the rest of the room seemed to fade out to a dull, hissing wash as the seconds dragged by.

 

Finally Winterson broke. He fidgeted, moving his plate and cup with darting fingers. “I am sorry, Ms Porter.” The words were reluctant, and he was barely looking at her. “For everything.”

 

“And you too.” Arthur pointed at Yikeria. “It was your idea to use Mitchell, wasn’t it? It has your fingerprints all over it.” He sounded contemptuous, and Yikeria flinched.

 

“It was. But you were never going to give us what we needed, and we knew we could never pay what you’d ask. We needed something to stay afloat. You’d have done the same in a heartbeat.” She spat.

 

“But I didn’t. Apologise.” Arthur repeated. Yikeria’s lip curled again, but she bit down the retort.

 

“I apologise, Ms Porter.” She said stiffly.

 

“Inès?” Arthur prompted.

 

“We could have been incredible,” she smiled wistfully at Ariadne. “Now we’ll never know.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like an apology. I think you are as much to blame as Yikeria, even if you made her do the dirty work.” Ariadne replied, keeping her expression stern as she knew how.

 

“I’m sorry, Ariadne.” Inès was gentle. “I am. I just wish things had turned out differently for us both.” Ariadne took one last look at her, hoping not a scrap of the way Inès’ had unnerved her was showing on her face, and turned back to Arthur.

 

“I’m satisfied,” she said crisply. Arthur nodded, one short chop of his head.

 

“Then we’re done here.” He stood, she and Eames following suit.

 

“Wait,” Winterson grabbed at Arthur’s sleeve. “You can’t leave us like this.”

 

“The fact we’re leaving you at all is fair exchange.” Arthur swiftly rotated his forearm outwards and Winterson’s hand bent back, forcing him to let go. “Choose your jobs more wisely next time.”

 

Arthur rested his hand on the small of her back as they walked away. If they were watching them go, it would be clearly visible. Ariadne felt it, the sign of protection, the mark of possession, the anchor at the base of her taut spinal column, the touch that propriety would allow that was him reaching across and reminding her he was there..

~*~

 

They packed up and left Gothenburg straight after. Eames had visited with them briefly before he left.

 

“Time for Browning and Ficher to get a visit from the doctor, I think.” He’d winked at Arthur, who frowned back.

 

“Be subtle, for God’s sake.” He’d warned.

 

“Who’s the doctor?” Ariadne stared at Eames, who beamed and opened his hands in a ta da gesture. “You? What?”

 

“Sweetheart, you wound me. It’s an alias.” He added before Arthur could butt in. “I’m off to the sunshine of Australia to offer my services as a grief counsellor and all round psychological genius to Robert, while making sure that Browning stops nosing around and starts realising he was acting hastily dipping his toe into the murky, mindcrime waters where people like Alodia swim.”

 

“Will that work? Won’t he recognise you?”

 

“Who? Robert? Or Browning? Robert might, but that’s easily explained by me going ‘Oh, Robert Fischer! We were both on that flight to Los Angeles a few months ago, do you remember?’ Which he most likely does not, being that he was off to darling daddy’s funeral and spends his life ignoring peons like me. Browning won’t recall a legal aide who came to his office a handful of times either, but if he does he’s going to write it off as a coincidence. Or else I sprout a cousin off the family tree, easy as pie.” Eames said breezily. “But anyway, now my grand plan has passed your approval, I must get to the airport.” He hefted his case in one hand. “I’ll call in a few days. Take care.” He kissed her cheek, ignoring Arthur’s sour face, and left, whistling to himself as he went.

 

“Where are we going?” Ariadne asked as the door closed. “Paris?”

 

Arthur carried on packing. “Soon. Once Eames has quelled Fischer and Browning, and I’ve put pay to anything else Alodia might try, we will. Until then I have a safe house a few hours from here. We’re going there.”

 

“Where is it?” Ariadne picked up a sweater, trying to fold it as neatly as he did his.

 

“It’s on a lake. It was an artist’s cabin when I bought it. It has great views, and it’s very peaceful. I think you’ll like it.”

 

“A long way from anywhere, right?” She stuffed her underwear in a handful into her case.

 

“No,” he put his head on one side and smiled sharply. “But far enough that I can see anyone coming. Private. Perfect for all kinds of things.”

 

Ariadne tried to squash the spark that his look was setting off in her. She was tense, and tea had wound her tighter. The idea of relaxing and just letting go in his company was enough to make her want to moan out loud.

 

“What are you suggesting?” She aimed for coy, and Arthur deflected her.

 

“What do you call it?” He snapped his case closed and sauntered over to stand behind her, resting his hands lightly on her backside. “Well? Answer me, Ariadne.” He ordered her, the words whispered into her ear and her knees felt weak.

 

“It’s usually called playing. Arthur.” She added quickly.

 

“Oh is it? So I would say…?”

 

“Do you want to play tonight?” Ariadne grabbed at her clothes, layering them into her case clumsily as she tried to keep her voice level.

 

“I really need to teach you how to pack properly.” Arthur sounded as if he might relish the prospect. _God, packing lessons really shouldn’t be such a hot idea_ , she chided herself. “But I’m getting off track. So I say: Would you like to play tonight? And you would say…?”

 

“Can we play tonight?” She might have squeaked a little at the end of the sentence.

 

“Would you like to?” He breathed. “I think you might. You’ve been pushed today, and I think you might want to relax. Safe word if you don’t.” Her eyes dipped closed, thinking of the release, of his hands and mouth. She did want to, and he’d noticed, and now he was hanging her by a thread. He wouldn’t unless she asked, and he’d back off at her safe word.

 

“Arthur,” she managed.

 

“Answer me, Ariadne.” One hand rose and came back down sharply, the snap of sensation as he slapped her butt making her push back towards him.

 

“Arthur, please can we play tonight?” The words tumbled out on a wave of relief.

 

“We can, Ariadne. As soon as we’re there. Then I’ll have you all to myself, and we can play as much as we want. So pack.” He slapped her butt again, moving away from her before she could react.

 

_Bastard,_ she thought fondly as she jammed her clothes away, ignoring Arthur’s evident disapproval at her technique. _Brilliant brutish bastard._

 

~*~

 

The cabin was in the middle of a wide tract of open land, dotted with trees. In the dark the lake was as the sky, reflecting the stars above it. Arthur had opened the door, flipping on the lights and turning the heat up as she looked around. It was beautiful, with a high ceiling and a huge window facing the door, stretching up from the floor to the peak of the roof. There were thick rugs on the wooden floor, and a couch pulled close to a small, black potbellied stove. Opposite the couch, close to the window, was a single wide chair, and a side table with a lamp, the perfect spot for reading. There was a tall bookcase standing at one wall, and two doors, both closed.

 

“Do you like it?” Arthur asked from behind her.

 

Ariadne turned back to him, beaming. “It’s gorgeous.”

 

“Good. I want you to feel comfortable here. So, shall we play?”

 

“Yes, please Arthur.” She breathed gratefully. He smiled back, then set his case on the floor, opened it and took out a small, plain box.

 

“Take this. Go into the bedroom, undress and put on what’s in here. Take your hair down. Then knock on the door and wait for me to call you in. Do you understand?”

 

“Before we unpack?” She couldn’t resist baiting him a little.

 

“Don’t test me, Ariadne. Or do you want to be punished? That’s not the way the game is played.” His hand shot out and clasped the mass of her hair tight, making her vision white out wonderfully for a moment and forcing her to stifle a moan. “If you want punishment, it becomes a reward. If you try to manipulate me, that’s willful behaviour and I will find another way to remind you who you submit to. Who do you want to submit to?”

 

“You, Arthur.”

 

“Will you do as I say?”

 

“Yes, Arthur.” Her heart was slamming into her ribs like a galloping horse. His mouth descended over hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth in a savage kiss then he let go, breathing hard.

“The bedroom is the door on the left.”

 

“Yes Arthur.” She took the box and crossed the room slowly, remembering that he liked to watch her back view. Her body was warm, and the sure sparks of arousal were flickering in her belly, and they’d barely even begun.

 

In the bedroom Ariadne undressed, laying her clothes on the bed first. She took a slow, deep breath, then opened the box, excitement tinged with anxiety swirling inside her. Inside was an envelope of tissue paper, which when she unfolded it revealed a set of the most delicate and pretty lingerie she’d ever seen.

 

It was deep, wine red, the lace on the edge of the bra cups and the front of the panties a filigree of fine threads forming drowsy poppy heads. She picked it up the bra gently, the tiny pieces of fine fabric soft and cool in her hands. She turned it this way and that, and slowly she realised that no matter how small she was, there was no way this would cover her breasts. Arthur wasn’t so sloppy as to buy the wrong size, and with a sudden, warm liquid rush it occurred to her so that it wasn’t meant to cover her up. The skimpy cut would frame her breasts like a decoration, exposing her to his touch and gaze while still being lovely.

 

Her mouth went dry at the image, so she hurriedly laid the bra aside, and with delicate fingers took out the panties, As she lifted them up a bow unfurled from the back, spilling down in a glossy tumble. Turning them around revealed that the front was held by two slender loops, obviously for her legs, while the bow would sit neatly at the bottom of her spine, holding them low on her hips, leaving her ass bare. Wrapping her like a gift, his gift, with these wonderful things.

 

“Oh Arthur,” she said to herself quietly as she admired her finery.

 

It took a little time to dress, adjusting the bow behind and moving the bra to the right place around her chest. The whole act of putting the outfit on was sharpening the edge of her arousal, her hands on her skin making it warm and tingle with each touch. When she was done, her hair let down and all of her just as he’d asked, she risked a glance in the full length mirror. The woman looking back was her, was gorgeous, debauched and sinful with a dark knowing in her eyes. Her nipples were deep, blushing red, the bra cradling her exposing them in a scandalous way. Her skin glowed against the colour of the lace and her hair, as if it had been rubbed with pearls. When she turned the bow swayed, rippling over her ass and thighs in an invitation to look, to touch and untie. She’d never seen herself like this, so deliciously prepared and prettified for someone, and it made her heart flutter. She felt like a treasure, something rare and precious he wanted to keep, making sure she knew it too.

 

She walked to door, and knocked. Time to show herself off, she smiled to herself. Let him see how well he’d done.

 

“Come in, Ariadne.” Arthur called, and she stepped through into the main room, closing the door behind her. The lights had been turned down, and the dim light was intimate, reassuring for her maybe. There were puddles of light spilling from the lamps dotted around the room, and the fire was crackling cheerfully in the stove. Arthur was by the fireplace, his jacket, tie and waistcoat gone, and in his hand was a small glass of something rich, tawny gold. His expression as he caught sight of her was better than she might have hoped. His lips parted for a moment, his tongue wetting them as his eyes opened a little wider before he caught himself and snapped back to himself. She fixed her eyes on him, and slowly dipped her head in a bow of obedience, waiting for his word.

 

“Come over here.” Arthur took a sip of his drink.

 

Ariadne crossed the floor slowly, feeling the warm air brush her nipples and the bow rippling behind her, brushing across her ass and over the backs of her thighs. She stopped in front of him, lowering her eyes. “You really are my prize, aren’t you?” Two fingers gently tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “You don’t need anything to make you more lovely than you are to me. But you deserve to dressed as exquisitely as you are by yourself.” Her tongue darted out and slicked over her parted lips. She couldn’t look away from him, nor did she want to. He had her balanced on the tightrope of her need, and the sound his voice wrapping around her was keeping her there.

 

“I’d like to collar you with diamonds, Ariadne. Make you feel the depth of my attention every moment of this. I want to adorn you, make you shine in the dark.” Arthur bent his head, kissing her mouth hard. His hands cupped her breasts, swirling over the points of her nipples. Her eyes closed, surrendering to the feeling of his touch making her tremble from her core outwards. His mouth left hers abruptly, then lips closed around her left nipple, sucking hard and laving her with his tongue. Her back arched, the sensation sudden and arrowing out into her body. He suckled the tip, teasing it up and proud of her breast so that when he moved back it was a hard bud. Smiling to himself with satisfaction he the shifted his attention to the other, flicking the left with a fingernail.

 

“Open your eyes. Remind me of your safe word.” He was holding her breasts as he spoke, her nipples firm between his fingers and thumbs, tugging and massaging them so all her awareness was on them.

 

“Purple, Arthur.” She managed.

 

“If you need it, say it.” His fingers tightened, a pinch around each nipple that thrummed sweetly, hot and deep. She felt his fingers move away, tracing lines over the swell of her breasts, but the pinch stayed. “Look down.” Her ordered. Her nipples were raised, each one warm red against a golden band that surrounded them where they rose from her breasts. Dangling from the band were sparkling, ruby red crystal drops that shivered as she moved, their small weight making the thrum intensify.

 

“Do you like them, Ariadne?” He was watching her so intently that it nearly burned.

 

“They’re lovely, Arthur. Thank you.”

 

He cradled her cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “I’ve decided I want to start with another taste of your mouth. You did something wonderful last time, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about.” The memory of him in her mouth swam into her head, the heady rush of deep throating him intoxicating. He dropped his hand, and strolled across to the armchair, settling himself and putting his glass down on the side table. There was a small, wooden box set there now, along with golden lighter and ashtray.

 

Arthur opened the box, taking out a slim cigar. With neat movements he cut the end and lit it. He watched her as he inhaled, his eyes dark as they ran over the lines of her body. She could feel the prickle and shiver of her skin as she waited, perfectly still, her jeweled nipple clamps twinkling in the light.

He took a sip of whisky and a dark little smile appeared on his face. "Come here." He ordered softly. "Kneel down at my feet."

The rug was thick under her feet, and his cologne smelt rich under the tang of smoke as she drew closer. Wordlessly she stopped in front of him and sank down, her head down. Her hair brushed her skin, and the bow creased over her feet.

 

"Look at me," he clasped her chin firmly, stroking her neck with his free fingers as she looked up at him. "So pretty." His thumb swiped her lower lip again and he smiled. "All mine. What a wonderful thought."

She swallowed reflexively. Her arousal was surging out from her centre and the hot buds of her nipples, her cunt felt wet and her clit was beating in time to her heart in her chest. Her body was screaming to be touched, but the anticipation of it was even better, the sharp edge of wanting where she was hanging yawning open beneath her in a freefall of pleasure.

"Undo my belt and trousers." His fingers bit into her skin, hard unyielding pressure.

"Yes, Arthur. May I use my hands?" The question made him flash her a smile like a blade.

"We agreed you would follow my instructions without question." Arthur replied crisply. "So your punishment for questioning me is that you may not use your hands. Now," he grasped a fistful of her hair and tugged once, sharply, so she gasped at the glorious shock and her eyes flickered shut for a moment. "Do as I say, Ariadne."

 

He sat back, picked up his glass and watched her as she knee walked forward, opening his legs so she could shuffle in between them. Her nipple clamps dragged on the upholstery of the chair as she leant forward, spikes of sensation twisting her attention as she pressed her face into his lap, feeling him give a minute shudder.

She got his belt between his teeth first, pulling the tongue loose and dragging it back so the prong popped free. The leather tasted bitter and dark in her mouth as she nudged and shook the buckle forwards, and with more yanking and biting eventually forced it undone. When she risked a glance up, Arthur was watching her with that lupine smile. She took a deep breath and tugged at his waist button, eventually pulling the fabric up and over with a sharp pull. She nuzzled into his fly, and her nose brushed over his clothed erection, sending a short thrill down her back. His short hum of pleasure made it happen again, and she pushed in closer. The zipper tab gripped in her front teeth she pulled, dragging it down until it would go no further.

"Take my cock out of my underwear. No hands." Arthur clarified when she looked up, taking a slow draw on his cigar.

She gripped the waist of his briefs in her teeth and pulled at them. The elastic tasted of laundry soap, but she could smell him now, salt and clean as she burrowed closer. She wanted to moan and beg for his touch, but he wouldn’t give it until she did as she was told.

It took an eternity of work, but eventually she pulled his clothes down to his ankles. When she sat back this time, Arthur clasped her chin again. "Now, suck my cock."

The words went right through her. This time she did shiver, her nipple clamps dancing in the light. Arthur simply sat back and waited, taking a sip of his drink as she bent her head forward and wrapped her lips around him. Grasping her left thumb she lowered her head, the pressure different at this angle as he slid down her throat. She pushed her tongue against him, sliding it up and down as much as she could and started to bob her head over his crotch. On her knees like this she could feel the bow of her panties tickling her feet as it swayed behind her, the position of her breasts raised and bare, and the hard pulse of her nipples when the clamps brushed his things.

 

“Fuck, Ariadne.” He groaned out, His fingers raked her scalp, scratching lines though her hair. His hips were pushing towards her, and he was heavy in her mouth, drops of pre come slipping down her throat. She tried to go deeper, But his hand in her hair pulled suddenly, and he gasped out “Stop!” He was rosy cheeked and panting as he guided her head back, his cock shiny with her saliva against his stomach. He swallowed hard as he recovered his composure, stubbing his cigar out in the ashtray. The smell of the smoke was heavy in the air. “That’s enough, Your mouth is such a temptation, but I want to try your pussy. Climb into my lap.”

 

Ariadne stood, and he pressed his knees together, making a gap on the seat either side of him. She stepped forward, letting her knees rest on the cushion and settling her butt on his lap. Her legs were splayed open over him, his thighs pulling her wider with a pleasant stretch. Her nipples grazed his shirt, the soft cotton slithering over the desperately sweet ache there. “That’s it,” Arthur’s hands roamed around her hips and grasped her ass, caressing and massaging her soft skin as he pulled her closer. His cock was nudging at the lace of her panties, insistent and hard.

 

“I have one last adornment for you.” Arthur nuzzled into her neck, pressing a ribbon of kisses around her throat. “You need something here, something to remind you.” He unwound one arm from around her and opened the wooden box again, taking out a smaller box. “Head back, Ariadne. Show me the line of your neck.” She rolled her head, chin up to the ceiling. Something cool and fine draped around her, settling in the space just below the gap her clavicles. His fingers brushed her skin, moving her hair from under the strand, and there was a small snick, a small weight pulling down, something hard, square and cold resting on her chest. “Your collar,” he pressed a kiss over the square, pushing it into her skin. “Look down.”

 

The necklace around her throat was slender, dull silver in the light. The chain looped around her neck, and fastened with a tiny padlock. It was discrete, a subtle thing that seemed so perfectly him it made her feel dizzy. “Do you like it?”

 

“I,” her throat tightened, a bubble of happiness and desire fighting in her chest. “It’s perfect. Arthur.”

 

“I have the key,” Between his fingers a sliver of metal glittered. “You can wear it when we play. Or when you want to be reminded who you submit to. Who loves you, like this. Or all the time, if you want.”

 

Tears were creeping into her eyes against her will. Such a gesture, blending so many things about him she loved into one small, beautiful object. “Thank you,” she managed. “I will wear it. You’re too kind to me, Arthur.”

 

“Maybe,” his eyelids lowered a fraction, and quick as a flash he had her hands caught behind her, pressing into the silk of the bow. “But I am also selfish, and I want you, when I say and how I say.” She writhed against him, one nipple clamp coming free and sending a spike of sweet pain into her breast. He groped at the bow, untying it and wrapping her wrists in the ribbon, binding them together before retying the bow. She wriggled her fingers, feeling for the jab of caught nerves or blocked circulation, but finding none she relaxed into the restraint, letting her breasts thrust forward deliciously. “Time for me to try your pussy.”

 

His fingers slid under the lace of her panties, stroking into her with a sigh of satisfaction. “Wet, running like a river for me.” He pulled his fingers free and sucked her taste away with relish. “This I am going to enjoy.” He grasped his cock, moving her panties aside and dipped the head inside her pussy, just enough that he was in place. Ariadne felt herself squeeze uselessly above him, not deep enough to bring him closer but close enough to promise he could.

 

“Sit down on my cock, Ariadne.” He ordered after a pause of watching her pant and tremble with holding herself still. The gulf of pleasure was opening beneath her now, feeling him push inside her as she lowered herself, stretching her to fit him as she pulsed and worked him. “You’re stroking me with your pussy,” he ground out. “You feel like you’re sucking me in. You want this so much, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, yes Arthur.” She replied. The pressure was delightful now, she felt breathless, hot and malleable as she sank down the last few inches with a grateful moan.

 

“Good girl,” his hands smoothed down her back, over the curve of her ass again. “There, I fit you so well.” He kissed her again, one sharp press of his lips. “Now, Ariadne, ride.” His hand came down on her ass with a crisp smack. She arched forward, the burst of heat and pain that fled as soon as it came more shocking than hurting. She ground down hard, her thighs lengthening as she rolled her hips and pulled back. She could hear herself around him, the wetness sounding obscene and pouring fuel onto the fire inside her. He smacked her ass again. “Ride,” he insisted, “harder.” His body was solid against hers, unmoving as she twisted and thrust. “Please me,” his teeth nipped her earlobe, his breath fanning over her skin. “Take me. I love being inside you. I love coming inside you.”

 

Her other nipple clamp caught and came loose, adding a sharp stab to the arousal seeping through her. Her clit was a hot, throbbing point behind the lace covering, every squeeze she gave him making a feeling like a fingertip rubbing it.

 

“You like it too, don’t you?”

 

“Yes, Arthur.” The words were airy in her mouth.

 

“I love feeling how soft you are. How tight you can milk me with your orgasm, trying to take my come. I have such dirty thoughts about that, Ariadne. Impregnating you when you’re ripe and ready for me. Breeding you until you can’t come any more. Filling you with me until your belly is round and your breasts are sweet with milk when I suck them.” His voice was dark and hot in her ear. “So many beautiful things. Taking you to a party where people can look at you but not touch as we play, admiring how lovely and obedient you are. Setting you at my feet and making you serve me with your mouth whenever I want. Spanking you with my hand until there are pink handprints over your perfect little ass, so whenever you sit down you remember my dominance.”

 

She moaned hard, the images pouring through her head. Her breath was rushing in and out of her now, her world shrunk to his voice, his body inside her, the sweat on her back and arms, his eyes on hers as he spoke, She was teetering on the edge of release, the moment stretching out in front of her in a tight silver thread. She wanted to come so badly her body was vibrating with the need, but Arthur urged her on with another smack, the feel of it sending her deeper into sensation.

 

“More,” he was gasping in her ear, one finger tracing around her opening and over her labia. “I’m close, I want to come inside you, Ariadne. Make me come.” His hips were pushing back to her now, rabbit thrusts that jolted into her. “Oh god,” he carried on, “a little more. Just a little.” His finger circled and homed in on her clit, making her clench around him as her back arched. She felt him pulse, then he was gasping in her ear. “You can come, Come with me, Ariadne. Come now.”

 

The burst of release was sudden and shocking, sharp ripples spreading out from her centre as she cried out, his name hot in her mouth as she shook, crying out as she fell headlong into the bliss waiting for her on the other side.

 

~*~

 

Arthur untied her hands, letting her burrow them between their bodies to lie on his chest as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. Floating in the afterglow her body felt it was adrift on a warm sea, wrapped up in his body as he rubbed her back in long, soothing sweeps. She could feel the hard nub of the padlock at the base of her neck, and she was suddenly swept over with a primal joy. His badge of ownership was around her neck, claiming her for everyone to see if she wished.

 

  
"Where did you get it?" She asked dreamily, keeping her head down but worming her hand upwards to touch the solid little lock.   
  
“What’s that?” Arthur’s chest vibrated under her when he spoke. "Ah. It's unique. I know a guy who knows a lot about locks. How to make them, how to open them, that kind of thing. He owed me a favour, and it so happens he's a jeweller now."  
  
"But not always, right?" Ariadne smiled against his neck. "Here I was, thinking you'd been using Google again."   
  
"No, he wasn't always." Arthur admitted. "I asked him what size the smallest working padlock would be. This is a little bigger, but not much, because it has a more compilcated lock and I didn't think you'd suit anything heavier. And it's platinum, because I liked the idea of it never tarnishing or wearing out, and I thought it would look more elegant."  
  
"Nothing to do with it being rare or expensive then?"   
  
"The thought hadn't crossed my mind as much as making you something beautiful _and_ special. If I wanted expensive and showy, I would have got you an eight hundred dollar silver butt plug cast in the shape of a strawberry." He finished dryly.  
  
"That's a thing?" Ariadne chuckled incredulously. "An eight hundred buck butt plug?"  
  
"Believe me, it's a thing." He sounded as if he was rolling his eyes. "It even has a stem with leaves and a flower that peek out when you're wearing it. Google was very instructive on the world of _luxury bondage_ , believe me. There are snakeskin wrist and ankle cuffs and spreader bars. Paddles made from glove leather. Canes and whips with artisan crafted rosewood handles and hand braided suede strands. Personally I think I was quite restrained stopping with your lingerie and adornments."   
  
Ariadne shivered deliciously at the word. "Thank you. They're beautiful. Everything about this was amazing. Especially this," she stroked the tiny lock resting in her suprasternal notch. "I will wear it all the time,” she murmured into his skin.  
  
"Your necklace?" He said softly.  
  
 She sat up slowly, and took his face in her hands, a wide, open smile bubbling out of her as she looked at him. “My collar. _Your_ collar around _my_ neck. I'll wear it all the time, if you'll let me.”  
  
His arms tightened around her, his face so serious that it made her ache for a moment. “You have my permission. Kiss me, right now.” He sounded almost like he was pleading. Holding his head she leant forward, brushing her lips against his, lingering and tasting him, the salt of his sweat and the bitter tang of whisky and smoke on his lips.  
  
  
“Mine,” he said as she rested her forehead against his. His fingertips touched the padlock gently.  
  
  
“Mine,” she agreed softly, her hand moving to cover his as she reclaimed his mouth.  
  
  
Later he could take care of her, just as a Dominant did for their submissive. But for this moment she could take care of him, Ariadne loving Arthur from every cell of her being.  
  
  
She sighed as his arms wrapped around her again, pulling her closer.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> The line _Vincent Van Go-Fuck-Yourself_ is from the series Archer ( _Placebo Effect_ , S2 e3.)
> 
> The injection into the eye idea is from [_The Tunnel: Sabotage_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Tunnel_\(TV_series\)), the second series of the UK remake of the Danish series _The Bridge,_ starring Stephen _"Stannis The Mannis/Thomas Jefferson to you, Adams"_ Dillane andClémence Poésy, who you probably know best as Fleur Delacour.
> 
> The architect of the [The Göteborg Opera](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_G%C3%B6teborg_Opera), Jan Izikowitz, made a statement about his design vision in which he says "The building should be possessed by an airiness , something that makes your mind float over the squiggling landscape like the wings of a seagull."  Feel free to judge that for yourself. You can see more pictures of Gothenburg, including the Feskekörka (literally _Fish Church_ in Swedish), [here](http://www.goteborg.com/en/) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothenburg).
> 
> [Fika](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fika_\(Sweden\)) is the frankly glorious Swedish tradition of having a proper coffee break with something nice to snack on on the side, from simple cookies, cinnamon rolls and/or fruit, to a complete glory with cakes and sandwiches like Scandinavian afternoon tea. I am currently campaigning to institutie it around the world.
> 
> "[BDSM =]cops and robbers for grownups with your pants off" is taken from [a tweet by Dan Savage](https://twitter.com/fakedansavage/status/372467812976955392)
> 
> [Gripping your left thumb in your fist will overcome your gag reflex](http://mind-hacks.wonderhowto.com/how-to/turn-your-gag-reflex-off-with-pressure-points-0160711/), well enough that  dentists use it as a technique for patients with an over sensitive one. Apparently it acts as distraction to the throat muscles, relocating the pressure to the thumb. Use this knowledge as you will (and practice by the sink jic, OK?)
> 
> Arthur's cabin is meant to look like sort of a cross between[ one of these buildings](https://www.instagram.com/p/BMSiwN-hjxL/) and a miniture of[ this one](http://www.dezeen.com/2015/01/20/villa-bondo-kjellgren-kaminsky-architecture-church-inspired-house-sweden/).
> 
> The smallest working padlock I could find was [this one](http://www.antiquesnavigator.com/d-2195880/antique-miniature-tiny-working-padlock-lock-world-smallest-brass-key-victorian.html), which is around 1cm/ just under 0.5 of an inch.
> 
> Finally, I suppose no one will be surprised to learn that yes, you can buy[ a sterling silver strawberry shaped butt plug](http://www.coco-de-mer.com/products/ahh-fornicouture-fragaria-anal-stimulator/) complete with leaves and a flower (currently $644 US.) This website also boasts the snakeskin restraints and spreaders, artisnal whips and canes, some eyewateringly expensive underwear (including Ariadne's[ bow back knickers](http://www.coco-de-mer.com/products/coco-de-mer-aveta-bow-knicker/), although sadly only in black) and some very beautiful and pricey sex toys.
> 
> Apologies to Google. I like you really <3 (but pay your UK taxes, damnit!


End file.
